Bats Outta Hell, a Manic Depressive Epic
by Keldan
Summary: The story of a less than stable Bhaalspawn and the people that keep company with her... despite her ever changing moods and whims. Chapter overhaul! If things seem messed up, then they probably are. I'm working on it. Working on formatting, also. Sorry!
1. Prologue

In the beginning, there was Ao.

Ao made the universe, and it was vast, and grey, and misty. It was an endless void made of nothing, and nothing was what filled it.

And Ao said, "Let there be light." And there was.

Selûne was the moon, the only source of light.

And Ao, in His infinite wisdom, declared, "Without darkness there can be no light. Without light, there can be no darkness." And darkness came to fill the places Selûne could not reach, and it was called Shar.

Shar and Selûne were twins, and sisters. They competed for Ao's affections as only siblings can, but He remained unswayed. He created more, and the universe grew.

* * *

In the beginning, death did not exist. But Ao looked upon the mortals and saw them grow tired with their eternal life. Ao, in His infinite wisdom, declared, "Without an end to all things, the mortals become weary. Without death, there can be no life. Without life, there can be no death."

And there was an End to All Things, and his name was Jergal. He was entropy incarnate, and thrived on the strife that began to fill the world as death permeated it.

But the long years, though nothing to a god, bored Jergal, and he became dissatisfied with his duties. Three mortals, though in awe of Jergal's empire of death and chaos, also coveted his power. Jergal, recognizing opportunity, watched these mortal men fight their way to his throne. When they stood before him, covered in the blood and ichor of those who had stood in their path, he spoke.

To Bane, the cunning ruler, he said: "Your ruthless ways are known to me, and the chaos you create by your power shall earn you the portfolio of Hatred, Strife, and Tyranny."

To Myrkul, the necromancer, he said: "Your control over the dead is unmatched, such that even I must stop and wonder. To you will go the portfolio of the Dead."

To Bhaal, the assassin and the youngest, he said: "Your skill with the tools of trickery and violence belies a love of ritual that will serve you well as a god. To you, I shall give the portfolio of Death and Murder."

Thus were three gods born from mortal flesh, and Ao was angry. But Ao, in His infinite wisdom, declared, "The father must eventually be overcome by his children. Without the succession of power from parent to child, there would be chaos." And He allowed Jergal to bestow his powers upon Bane, Myrkul, and Bhaal, and the triad became the greatest force of Evil in His young world.

* * *

Bhaal, though the youngest of the Dead Three (as Bane, Myrkul, and himself were now called), was also the most cunning and the most skilled in manipulating mortals. He spent much time amongst them as an avatar, gathering information and drinking alcohol, something he missed a great deal from his own time as a human. He was on one of these escapades now, walking through a dirty alleyway and wondering whether he had time for an assassination, for old times' sake.

"Alms, mister?" said a small voice. Bhaal looked down to see a young child of perhaps eight holding out a grubby hand. He was dressed poorly and clearly had not bathed in several days, if not weeks, but the most striking thing about him was the milky-whiteness of his eyes: he was blind.

"Beat it, kid," replied Bhaal with practiced callousness. He knocked the small hand away, not with a terrible amount of force, but the child flew backwards as though he had kicked him.

"Ouch!" exclaimed the boy. He sprung to his feet as Bhaal shrugged and started walking again. "Hey, watch it, ya son-of-a—"

There was a strange choking noise, and Bhaal stopped. He turned. The boy had gone stiff as a board, and was standing in the alleyway looking like a column with nothing to hold up. Bhaal walked back to where he had been standing and peered at him with interest.

The child shuddered, once, and then spoke in a hoarse, pained voice, saying: "The Lord of Murder shall perish, but in His doom He shall spawn a score of mortal progeny. Chaos shall be sown from their passage. They shall be the means to an end, the life for He who has lost His own..."

The voice trailed off, and slowly the boy lost his rigidity and blinked wearily. "What was I saying?" he asked.

Bhaal slowly smiled a smile that, had he not been blind, would have reminded the boy of the way a tiger bares its teeth right before it kills its prey. As it was, he merely shivered as Bhaal spoke and he heard the whisper of Death in his voice. "What's your name, boy?"

Afraid of what would happen if he did not answer, the boy replied, "Alaundo."

The god clapped him on the shoulder, hard. "Well, Alaundo. I get the feeling you've just done me quite the favor. And in exchange, I'm going to make you a star."

* * *

"Gorion."

He started in surprise. There was a youngish girl with long blonde hair and slightly pointed ears looking at him. She had the look of one who did not take waiting kindly. What had Elminster introduced her as? Oh, yes...

"So sorry, Jaheira," he said, smiling wearily at her. "I was merely... contemplating."

"Contemplate after this is finished," she replied in her husky voice, though not unkindly. She hefted her staff and looked around the temple. It had been full of Bhaal's worshippers, though they were now slain. Blood ran down the sides of the altar upon which one of them had jumped even as he was cut down. On the wall behind it, a skull carved from the stone walls grinned at the scene of carnage, and rubies in the shape of droplets glinted dimly in the light of the various torches carried by the other Harpers waiting with them.

"The life of a Harper is a busy one, Jaheira, as you will well learn soon enough. At times, one must take the opportunity to contemplate when one can."

Jaheira nodded, but said nothing. Her eyes narrowed as she gazed down first one dark corridor and then another. She shifted from foot to foot restlessly. At last, she said, "Where do you suppose they are?"

Gorion shook his head sadly. "I suppose we can only hope they have not yet been sacrificed."

The half-elf nodded wearily. Then a scream, high-pitched and frightened, like a lost child, came from the depths of the temple. Several of the other Harpers standing around them started and began muttering to each other.

"Perhaps there is yet one we can save," said Gorion, taking Jaheira's hand. Together, they started running in the direction from which it had come.

* * *

Even Ao, in His infinite wisdom, did not foresee the consequences of the newborn gods' thirst for power, for Bane and Myrkul, ever scheming, attempted to steal the Tablets of Fate. The Tablets contained the portfolios of all the gods, good and evil, lawful and chaotic, and preserved the delicate Balance through which the world existed.

Ao, whose anger over the instatement of the Dead Three had cooled, was again incensed, and cursed His children to walk on the earth as mortals. The only god spared from His wrath was Helm, the Watcher, who retained his divinity in order to watch the gods and to punish those who deserved punishment. Thus, the Time of Troubles began.

Though no longer immortal, the gods were powerful. But the people of the earth saw opportunity, and there was soon a great war both between the gods and the mortals. Though many mortals, like the Dead Three, desired godhood above all else, and sought them out to destroy them and assume their divinity, some fought the now-corporeal gods in self-defense.

Bane was slain by in battle by the demigod Torm. Myrkul engaged in combat with a mortal wielding the powers of the goddess Mystra and was defeated. Bhaal was killed by the mortal Cyric with the help of the god of stealth and thieves, Mask.

But Bhaal lived on in another form. For he had, with the unwitting help of one mortal, foreseen his death, and had taken precautions.

* * *

"She is clearly unstable, Gorion."

The elderly mage glared at his equally seasoned colleague. "You barely speak to her, Ulraunt, and yet you continue to make judgments on her character. Just because you feel that she is a danger to some—"

Ulraunt rolled his eyes as he interrupted. "Not _some_, Gorion, _all_. It is in her nature." He leaned back in his chair, the desk stretching out between them. Gorion felt like a boy at school again, being lectured by an overzealous teacher. It did nothing to improve his mood. "I have been... approached by some 'interesting' characters, you see, Gorion, and—"

"Oh?" said Gorion sharply. "Which sort of 'characters' are these?"

"I believe I already added a modifier to my description of them. 'Interesting' is not sufficient?"

"Wealthy, you mean. And willing to agree with your hasty assessments."

Ulraunt shook his head, though his eyes hardened. "Gorion, it is time you saw the truth of things. Raising a lion out of the wild makes it no less savage; why should the same not apply to her?"

Gorion stood. "Perhaps the lion-tamers weren't doing it correctly. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must do something I should have done a long time ago: get my daughter away from you and your petty designs."

The old lore-keeper shook his head again as Gorion slammed the door behind him. "Gorion, my old friend..." he muttered to himself, "These 'petty designs' are already far beyond my own influence."

* * *

Gorion slammed through the doors of the Keep and stood for a moment at the top of the steps, breathing heavily and contemplating murder. Ulraunt made him so angry sometimes, with his firm belief in not giving anyone a first chance, let alone a second, and his staunch support of the status quo.

Tethtoril was sitting on the side of the fountain in the courtyard, looking serene as always. His ceremonial red robes were getting splashed, but he seemed not to care. He waved to indicate that he would like to speak to Gorion.

Gorion considered ignoring him, but he and Tethtoril had been friends for many years, and allies were scarce these days. He walked slowly in his direction.

"Hail, friend," said Tethtoril as he drew close enough. "You look a mite upset," he added mildly.

Gorion shook his head as he sat beside the old wizard. "It is not worth discussing."

Tethtoril shrugged. "As you wish. You will be wanting to find your young ward, yes?"

Not bothering to ask how he knew, because Tethtoril was always being maddeningly pre-cognizant, Gorion nodded. "It will likely be a hard task. Unless, of course," he continued, raising his voice to attract the attention of the young girl attempting to sneak past behind their backs, "Imoen would be willing to go look for her."

He turned in time to see Imoen freeze, and then turn and walk around to stand in front of them.

"Uh, sure, Mister Gee," she said, smiling sheepishly. "Anything to get outta dusting, right? Sneeze my head off one o' these days, I will."

Gorion nodded. "Good girl."

* * *

Candlekeep was a small, peaceful village on the coastline known as the Sword Coast. Well, it was called Candlekeep, but in fact the real Candlekeep was the small but imposing fortress on the hill above the village. It was surrounded by thick walls and guarded day and night by sentries and gatewardens, and was home to that most elusive and secluded breed: the scholar.

The keep itself was composed of several floors, all of which were home to thousands of books, even the floors dedicated to housing the librarians and lore-keepers. It held everything from rare cookbooks to even rarer treatises on something called "tantric lovemaking," the volumes of which tended to be kept under lock and key lest any younger visitors get hold of them. There were magic spellbooks, magic scrolls, even magical bits of parchment that had to be housed between two bits of glass because they were so torn and fragile. There were stories. So many stories, in fact, that it would take several lifetimes to go through them all, and it had taken that long to collect them and catalogue them and alphabetize them. Sometimes it seemed to take that long to find them when a careless visitor left them on a table or slipped them randomly onto a shelf several floors away.

But they were read, often, as should happen with stories; and they were absorbed into so many different minds and personalities that they probably changed the world more than any one author, no matter how ambitious, could ever hope. But they were also read by a certain mind and personality that was much stronger than most of them were used to encountering. This mind belonged to a young girl for whom life seemed a very strange and often unaccountably annoying thing to make a person go through... but the stories helped.

The stories helped quite a bit.

* * *

"Heya! It's me, Imoen!"

Willow looked up from the book she'd been reading. She'd been in the middle of a rather impressive fight—two pirates, one of which was fighting with two swords, something Willow always found very impressive, had been going at it for hours but neither had won yet. The attention to detail was marvelous. This "Davy Jones," or whatever his name was, wrote almost like he'd been there.

She'd been sitting in her special Secret Place, a small area between the back wall of the guardhouse and the stone wall that surrounded the Keep, where the light hit everything just right and a tall tree in the courtyard leaned over just enough for her to occasionally reach up and touch the leaves, when Imoen had found her. She couldn't hide from Imoen very well; she'd always been better at Hide and Seek.

"Aye, ye scurvy seadog?" she replied as her redheaded friend jogged up to her, grinning madly.

Imoen blinked and tilted her head as she gave Willow a quizzical look. "Huh?"

"Pirate speak," she explained. "Means whaddya want?"

"Oh, right. Well, Gorion was askin' for ya, and I said I'd go find ya. Anything to get outta makin' beds, right?" she added, plopping herself down onto the bench beside the other girl.

"Anything," agreed Willow, carefully placing a piece of ribbon between the pages to keep her place. "Did he mention what he wants?"

"Nope," said Imoen, shaking her head and appropriating the book from Willow's hand. Ignoring her outraged squeal, she added, "But he looked a little worried. I'd hurry up if I were you."

"And I'd keep that hidden, if I were you," said Willow, standing. "I'm not supposed to have it outside the library in the first place."

* * *

Gorion was a grey-haired, kindly old man. He was also Willow's foster-father.

"Ah, my child!" he exclaimed in obvious relief from where he'd been waiting for her on the front steps of the library. He held out his arms as she trotted towards him. "I am glad you have come so quickly. I must speak to you, but..."

Gorion wasn't usually one to trail off significantly. If he had something to say, he just said it. "What's the matter?" asked Willow, as she pulled away from the unusually tight hug.

He smiled weakly. "I believe we are about to embark on one of those 'adventures' of which you're so fond of reading."

Willow's heart leapt. "Leave Candlekeep? Well, it's about time! There's a whole damn world out there and I've never gotten to see it! But... when will we be back? Only I've started that garden, you know, and everything's only just now beginning to grow. It'll all die if I leave it."

"All in good time, my dear, all in good time," said Gorion, patting her on the shoulder. "I'm... well, I'm not sure when we'll be back. But we must keep moving forward in life, that's what Alaundo always said."

Her heart sank back down a little from where it had been soaring and she gave him a worried look. "Alaundo was a prophet. He saw the future. Of course he wanted people to pay more attention to it than the past."

Gorion chuckled. "Astute as always. However, in this case, I believe he may be right... at any rate, here's what I want you to do. Take this money." He handed her a pouch that jingled enticingly as it was set on her palm. "It should be enough for you to get whatever you need at Winthrop's inn. And then meet me at the gates. I fear I have much to tell you in a very short time indeed, but Candlekeep is no longer safe for such talk."

Willow opened the pouch to look at the coins. More than she'd ever held at one time in her life. She looked back up at her father, but it was clear that he would tell her nothing more right now. She turned to go.

"Oh, and Willow," he said as she started down the steps, "You may wish to ask Imoen to look after your garden. It will be some time before we return."

She nodded and left. She didn't hear him say quietly, to himself, "If we return at all."

* * *

Willow stopped off first in the guardhouse, hoping to find her friend Hull, in order to ask his advice on what to buy for an adventure. It was always a dark building, and the iron bars of the jail on the far wall had always made her nervous, but the guards were nice enough. Hull often relied on her for his hangover cures. He said she was the only one who could mix them right.

Today it was empty except for a young man sitting in the corner, polishing a pike. He gave her a sidelong look as she entered through the door, making sunlight stream across the floor.

"Oh," she said, as he got up and casually tossed the polishing rag onto the floor. "Hull's not here? Then I guess I'll just be..."

She trailed off as he hefted the pike, eyeing the point. "Ye be Gorion's whelp, then, eh?" he said in a hoarse voice.

Willow stepped back a little. Her parentage had never been a problem, in her mind, but it seemed it was to everyone else. This wasn't the first time she'd been called such things. "I'm his daughter, if that's what you mean," she replied, trying to sound as haughty as possible.

"Foster-daughter," said the man, lowering the pike. "Got t' get that part right. Foster, 'cause ye ain't ever had any livin' parents."

"Of course I had real parents," said Willow, indignant. "Everyone has those—"

"_Livin'_ parents," he interrupted. "Never said anythin' about real. Anyway, 't'ain't goin' t' matter very soon."

"What are you talking about?" said Willow. Or at least, she meant to say that. In reality, she only got as far as "Wh—" before he had lunged.

The pike caught her by the shirt as she instinctively stepped out of the way, and there was a loud ripping noise. Willow paid it no attention as she flew sideways onto a bed. She heard a thud and then a splintering crash as the pike rammed into the plaster of the wall next to the closed door. It was unlikely that anyone outside would hear, since the walls were so thick. There was no help to be had. Spinning around, survival instinct took over as he pulled the polearm from the wall and ran at her again.

As if in a dream, Willow reached out with both hands and grabbed the shaft of the pike. The man looked first angry, then surprised as she yanked with all her strength and it broke in her grip. Throwing away the useless half, she hefted the other like a spiked club.

He laughed dully. "No use tryin', little girl." He was clearly gauging her reach. Suddenly, he charged again.

She swung. He dodged, but it threw him off—he ran straight into a wall. He had turned and was running again before Willow had maintained her own balance, and the swing this time was erratic and she nearly let go. Not thinking, she stuck out a foot and he tripped and fell. He raised himself up on his hands, trying to stand again. She shoved blindly downward.

Blood spattered across her face as the spiked tip of the pike connected with his back. He fell to the floor again, face first, and lay in a quickly spreading pool of blood.

Blinking, the haze slowly lifting from her mind, Willow stared down at the corpse. It looked almost unreal—the blood was too red, the steel pike glinting too brightly in the dim light. The room now smelled strongly of that strange mix of bitterness and iron that was the scent of blood.

Willow turned and pulled the sheet from the bed she had landed on, first wiping the blood from her hands and then using a nearby washbasin and mirror to remove the spatter from her face. After a moment's thought, she spread the sheet across the body on the floor.

Work done, she opened the door and walked out into the sunlight. There was no one around. Walking quickly, she made her way behind a building, the smell still in her nose. Once out of sight of anyone passing by, she bent over an empty rain barrel and was violently sick.

Off in the distance of the courtyard, the Chanters sang the prophecies she'd been listening to every day since she had come here, which was as far back as she could remember. There was one who could sing so clearly that his voice almost reached the parapets on which the guards patrolled. Out of habit, Willow listened with one ear as she sank to the ground and panted.

"The Lord of Murder shall perish, but in His doom He shall spawn a score of mortal progeny. Chaos shall be sown from their passage. So sayeth the wise Alaundo."


	2. Beginnings and Endings

Anything to get out of slopping the stables.

That was what Imoen told herself when Willow asked her to care for her garden while she was gone. But secretly, Imoen's stomach had twisted at the thought of her best friend leaving for the real world.

"Sure, I'll take care of it for ya," Imoen said, trying to keep her tone level. "I dunno what good it'll do it, though. You know me and my thumbs. Neither of 'em are green."

Willow smiled, though Imoen could tell when she was faking it. There seemed to be a spot of blood on her forehead, just on her hairline. Imoen reached out and touched it, worried. "What's this?"

Her friend's hand darted upward quickly, a look of surprised on her face. "Oh, nothing," she replied. "One of... one of the cats didn't like me petting it, that's all."

Imoen successfully kept the skeptical look from her face, but she said, "But they all love you. It's me that they hate. Remember the time Fluffy though I was an ogre and nearly clawed my hand straight off my arm?"

Willow snorted, then laughed, and the tension passed. "I'll miss you, Immy."

Imoen nodded. "I'll miss you, too. But you're comin' back, right? And then you can see what good care I took of your plants. They'll only be mostly dead."

They said their goodbyes. Gorion hugged Imoen and told her to behave herself. Imoen promised obedience with slightly more conviction than she usually did, simply because he was leaving.

There was a shout from above, the usual wordless bellow of the guards as they raised the gate for someone to come or go. Imoen watched as Gorion placed a hand on Willow's shoulder, and they walked out the gate.

Willow glanced back, quickly, as Gorion pushed her gently forward. Imoen waved weakly. The gate started its slow journey earthward.

* * *

Willow was not used to this kind of exercise. It appeared that even having Imoen to run around Candlekeep with was not enough to develop the kind of strength it took to travel. Gorion didn't even seem winded, and he was at least three times her age.

The wind was picking up. She raised her face into the breeze and sniffed. Smelled like rain.

"We must hurry if we are to find shelter before nightfall," said Gorion. His eyes scanned the line of trees as they emerged into a small clearing. For some reason, they weren't using the road—too public, he had said. When Willow had asked what that meant, he had replied simply, "We will speak of it later."

"What are we going to find out here in the middle of nowhere?" asked Willow, trying not to whine. She wanted to prove to him that she could handle the walking and weariness; perhaps then, after they had found a place to rest, he would explain things more fully.

"The forest has many secrets," said Gorion, holding out a hand to her to help her over a large, fallen tree-trunk. "It will often help you, if you but let it."

The leaves in the trees nearby rustled as the wind blew through them more forcefully. Willow couldn't help but think it sounded a little like words. She shivered.

"I hope you brought your cloak," said Gorion. Willow nodded and set her pack on the ground for a moment, pulling the garment out of her bag. It was made specially for rain, oiled and light; it was the color of the needles on a pine tree.

Just as she had finished donning the cloak, large drops of rain started falling from the darkened sky, spattering loudly on the leaves. They continued on.

* * *

The forest was dark, and he was not accustomed to traveling through the deep undergrowth in his armor. Twigs snapped and vines caught at his greaves. But they were getting close. He knew it. He could hear it, deep in the back of his mind: a dull throb, like a heartbeat.

* * *

A pain had been forming in Willow's head for the past half-hour. Not sharp, like a normal head pain, but a deep ache, that pounded each time she turned her head.

"Wait. We are at an ambush."

Willow's head jerked up and a flash of pain momentarily blinded her. Gorion's hand shot out to stop her from going any farther. There was a flash of lightning, followed almost immediately by a long roll of thunder. Out of the darkness under the canopy of trees came a voice, a deep baritone, cold as the rain falling on them:

"You're perceptive, for an old man. Hand over your ward."

The headache flared again at the sound of the voice. She nearly blacked out.

A large figure emerged from the shadows. The lightning flashed again, and Willow saw a huge man in spiked armor, a ghastly helm in the shape of a monster's face upon his head. From within the gaping maw of the helm, two eyes glowed a dull coppery-gold in the aftermath of the flash.

Gorion shook his head, pushing with the hand to make Willow step back. She tripped on a rock and nearly fell.

Two ogres were coming to flank the huge man, now. A much smaller figure, perhaps that of a woman, strode forward to stand slightly behind and to the right of him.

"Hand over your ward," the huge man repeated, "And no one shall be hurt." A spiked gauntlet came up as the man made a slashing movement with his hand. "If you resist it shall be a waste of your life!" he growled. "I have no quarrel with you."

"You're a fool if you believe I would trust your benevolence," said Gorion, nearly shouting above the thunder. "Step aside and you and your lackeys," here he glanced meaningfully at the slight shape beside the spiked man, "will be unhurt."

Willow knew, as surely as she knew the back of her own hand, that there would no surrender, on either side. The gauntlet came up again as it withdrew a huge claymore from a scabbard on the man's back. The deep voice came again, this time smug. "I'm sorry that you feel that way, old man."

Gorion pushed again, harder. This time she did fall, flat on her back. He was already reaching for the pouches on his belt, but spared a quick, regretful glance down at her.

"Run, child! Get out of here!"

Willow groped blindly at her own belt. She couldn't seem to find her sword. As she put a hand on the ground to lever herself upward, her hand fell on the rock she had tripped on. The spiked man was advancing quickly... she hefted the rock...

_CLANG_.

The stone hit him squarely on the side of the head. She wasn't sure, but there might have been a dent. He wavered for only a moment, however, and was soon sprinting towards her once again.

Gorion grabbed her by the hood of her cloak and forcefully hauled her upward and onto her feet. "Run!" he shouted. A quick incantation and several Magic Missiles were headed towards the head of one of the ogres.

There was nothing she could do. She ran.

She turned back only once. The lightning illuminated Gorion as the huge claymore was driven into his chest. Tears sprang to Willow's eyes and mixed with the raindrops as she continued to flee.

Miles were covered and her legs felt like melting jelly before she finally collapsed into the hollow of a tree. Her exhaustion took over. She slept.

* * *

Imoen had never picked the lock on Gorion's door before. His room had always been the one place she would never snoop, no matter what juicy items or gossip she could get there. He'd always been good to her, even if Willow had been his prime concern. But now... Imoen couldn't shake the feeling that they were both in danger, and that she could help.

Still, she felt distinctly guilty as she peered around the dimly lit corridor, making sure there was not one around before she unrolled her kit and selected a couple of promising lockpicks. The lock was not a difficult one; the door soon swung open gently at her touch. It was almost too easy.

The room inside was dark. The servants hadn't bothered to come in to light candles, since Gorion wasn't here. Imoen decided against lighting a candle, since that would only bring attention to what she was doing here. She would have to let her eyes adjust.

She shut the door behind her, wincing as it creaked a little. A few moments later, she could see sufficiently by the moonlight coming in through the window--they hadn't closed the shutters. She moved to his desk, which was the most promising spot. Rifling through the drawers, she found nothing interesting but what seemed to be a half-finished draft of a letter.

_E--_

_No time for formalities. Have received letter. Leaving soon. Will meet on road._

_G_

"Well, that's cryptic," she muttered to herself. Was this letter that Gorion was referring to the source of his sudden desire to leave Candlekeep? And if they were meeting this "E" on the road, did it mean that Gorion didn't think he could handle the journey himself?

There was a sudden, loud crack of thunder, as if someone had shut a door right next to her ear. She yelped, but the long roll of sound from the sky covered it up. Lightning flashed outside. She closed and locked the shutters of the window, not caring if anyone saw, because she couldn't let Gorion's room get soaked and ruined.

That was when Imoen decided that if anyone was going to take care of Willow and Mister Gee, it would be her. They were both competent, but everyone could use someone versed in the arts of subtlety, after all.

She would have to leave Winthrop a letter. Ask him to look after the garden. And to apologize for taking all the equipment she was about to steal.

There was a fork in the road.

Willow had always been blessed (or cursed) with particularly lifelike dreams. Intense glimpses into her subconscious, some of the monks called them. Sometimes she was frightened to think that her buried mind could come up with such strange things.

This one, though, was set outside the high walls of Candlekeep; guards stood on the ramparts and yelled at her. Disparaging remarks about her relationship with the various monks and how they'd prefer it if she just went away, that sort of thing. Some of them whistled suggestively as she turned away from them. She eyed the two possible choices of path, just wanting to get away.

One path was heavily forested, and the branches of the trees stretched over the road in an almost cathedral-like arch, obscuring the light of the full moon overhead. A light breeze blew down it and seemed to carry with it faint whispers, none of which she could understand.

The other path was bare dirt and pebbles, flat as far as the eye could see, seemingly the easiest road in the world to traverse. She noticed some of the rocks poking out of the dirt were wickedly sharp, however, and there was no telling when you could step on one.

She turned again to the gates of Candlekeep. The guards jeered all the louder. The voice of her foster-father came to her, clear as day, as the breeze blew around her: "You cannot—_should_ not—go back this way, child. You must move on."

And then another voice as the wind twisted and caressed her other ear: "Take the easy way out… it will make it better for everyone."

Willow pivoted on her heel and glanced again at the smooth path. Gorion's voice came again, this time as a memory: "The forest has many secrets. It will often help you, if you but let it."

She started walking purposefully towards the wooded path. She broke into a trot, and then a run. Weeds sprang up around her feet as she ran under the shelter of the trees, wrapping themselves around her feet, but they broke easily as she forged on, and soon they stopped growing entirely.

The breeze funneled its way once again through the tunnel of branches and she caught the second voice again. It said, "You will learn…"

* * *

Willow opened her eyes. There was a canopy of green leaves above her, and birds chirped cheerily in the trees. It was as if the previous night had simply been a bad dream.

She turned her head. Gorion wasn't beside her. But Imoen was.

Somehow, this did not surprise her. Perhaps she was simply too tired to be surprised.

"I traveled all night to find you," said her redheaded friend from her perch on the tree root beside her. She looked at her, eyebrows wrinkled in an expression of concern. "I almost didn't."

Willow tried to say something, but her voice came out in a croak. Imoen handed her a water skin, from which she drank greedily. She tried again. "I wish there was more to find."

Imoen nodded and bit her lip. After a moment of silence she said, "Should we go find him?"

Looking up at the leaves again, Willow almost wanted to say, "No." But she couldn't. Even if she was afraid of what she would find, she owed it to herself and to Gorion.

"Yes."

* * *

Willow carefully led the way north, towards the spot at which she and Gorion had been ambushed the previous night. Imoen followed behind her, looking around nervously and occasionally making a stick crack beneath her feet. When they reached the clearing, she gasped audibly.

Gorion was lying in the middle of a patch of dirt, over a strange pattern arranged in pebbles. The two very large, very dead ogres lay on either side of him, and were beginning to smell even worse than they had in life.

Willow walked over and knelt by her father's body. She found that he had already started going stiff when she lifted a hand to clasp it tightly. She picked up a stick and waved it violently at the bird that had been staring curiously and pecking occasionally at Gorion's robes. It squawked and flew off.

"Daddy," she rasped, something she hadn't called him since she was at least six. "I'm really… sorry," she finished lamely.

Imoen placed a cautious hand on her shoulder. "It's not your fault, Wil."

"Yes it is," mumbled Willow.

"Well," probed Imoen gently. "He must've... it must've been that he knew it'd get dangerous, right? I mean, what with makin' you buy weapons and armor, and such..."

Willow shrugged noncommittally.

"It's just, he must've known what was coming," said Imoen.

Willow blinked and looked up at her friend. "You--have you been spying again, Immy?"

"I wasn't spying!" protested Imoen indignantly. "It's not spying if you do it for a good reason! I... when you left, I looked around his desk. I found a reply to some letter he'd gotten. It sounded... sounded like he didn't think he'd be able to take care of you."

Willow shook her head and fought back the tears that threatened to overwhelm her. "Do you think it's still… on his body?"

Imoen shrugged. "I'm not sure I wanna go looking through his pockets…"

Willow wiped at her eyes self-consciously and then quickly reached into Gorion's pocket before she could talk herself out of it. Inside was a letter, folded up into a complicated envelope and bearing a broken seal that sported an ornate "E."

She looked up at Imoen, who shrugged again.

"I'll… read it later," said Willow. She stuck it in her own pocket and looked around, feeling rather hopeless.

Imoen moved forward. "Here… we can at least…" She trailed off as she began pulling at one of the ogres' cloaks. Willow helped, and together they managed to drag the large piece of thick fabric from under the creature. They set about wrapping Gorion's body in it.

When they were done, Imoen wiped her brow and said, "Well, it stinks, in more ways than one, but at least the birds can't get him this way."

Willow nodded. She looked down at the rocks on the ground. They had been shoved about quite a bit in the fight, but there was still a discernible pattern. It looked a little like a skull in the middle of a circle.

"This must've been how he knew it was an ambush," she said, pointing. Imoen looked down. "I wasn't looking at the ground, my head was hurting," continued Willow, searching her memory. It was as though it was all a blur. "He knew we were coming..."

"Who did?" asked Imoen gently.

"The Spiked Man..." replied Willow, bending down to touch one of the stones. It felt like an ordinary rock. "He made my head hurt..."

"Scary," whispered Imoen.

"Yeah," agreed Willow.

* * *

They trudged down the road, Gorion's letter in Willow's pocket and a few gems and gold pieces looted from the ogres in Imoen's. The shock was beginning to wear off a little.

"First thing to do is go to the Friendly Arm," said Willow, the first words she'd uttered in hours. Imoen had been getting hungry and tired, but had been afraid to disturb Willow. She quickly pulled her attention from contemplating death (something she did not often do) back to the problem at hand, which was that they were in the middle of the wilderness, with very few actual possessions besides some weapons they didn't _really_ know how to use, and only a few gold pieces.

"Candlekeep'll never let us back in," continued Willow. "You know how Ulraunt was about both of us. Especially me." Imoen nodded glumly. "Without Gorion they'd be even less likely… Just after we'd gotten out of the gate, he told me about some friends of his. At the Arm. Khalid and Jaheira, he said." Imoen nodded again. "They're likely pretty useful if they're friends of his."

"Maybe we can bring them back to help bury him?" asked Imoen hopefully. Willow shook her head. A guilty look passed across her face.

* * *

"I imagine he's been found by now, anyway," she muttered. Imoen decided she'd better leave it at that.

Montaron was rapidly losing what sanity he had left.

Xzar, who had been singing a stupid song about coconuts for the past three hours, had suddenly decided that it might be a good idea to cut off all of Montaron's hair, along with his head. It had taken the halfling the better part of his energy to bring the madman down, and he had just finished tying the ropes around the human's ankles when Xzar exclaimed, in obvious delight, "Look, Monty, a traveler!"

Montaron peered down the road. Two figures were approaching, women by the looks of them… not even women, girls. Both below average height (though Montaron had trouble recognizing average heights for humans, anyway), both cloaked, one carrying a shortbow and the other with two short swords strapped to her hips. Neither looked terribly comfortable with their weaponry.

"Hold, travelers!" cried Xzar from the ground before Montaron could gag him. "You look as though someone has set about you—mayhap you have struggled for your life?"

The halfling rolled his eyes. On second examination, however, one of the approaching girls did look a bit worse for wear…

"Got in a fight with yer hair curler, did ye?" he asked her as she came to a stop in front of them. She stared at him for a moment. Then she did something that came as quite a surprise to Montaron: she laughed. It was a laugh that reminded him just slightly of Xzar.

"That was pretty good," she remarked after she'd finished guffawing, wiping a tear from her eye. "But then, anything'd seem funny after the night I had..."

Xzar, who was still lying on the ground quite happily, said, "Would you like some healing potions?" He sounded as though he were offering dainty sandwiches at a tea party.

"Those're ours!" said Montaron, annoyed.

"We'll take them," said the girl. "I'm Willow, by the way. That's Imoen." She made a brief gesture towards the girl behind her, who looked slightly alarmed.

"You'll have to get them, Monty, I'm a bit tied up at the moment," said Xzar, and then cackled away merrily while Montaron fought back the desire to kick him in the head. The halfling pulled two healing potions from his pack and thrust them at Willow, who took them with a slight smile and dropped them into an appropriately-shaped pouch on her belt.

"Thank you," she said. A pause. "What're you two doing standing out here in the mud, anyway?"

"Waiting for someone to come along!" shouted Xzar, squirming in his bonds. "Someone interesting! Like you, mayhaps!"

"I see," said Willow. Perhaps she talked to people tied up on the ground all the time, thought Montaron.

"Maybe ye want us to join ye?" Montaron pursued. "I be pretty useful with a throwin' axe, and the mage be a fine spellslinger when he's sane enough. Which ain't often," he added as an afterthought.

Willow turned to Imoen. They had a brief whispered conversation. Imoen didn't look happy to be discussing the prospect of bringing the two along, but Willow turned back and said, "Sure, come with us. We could use all the help we can get."

And thus began a strange alliance.

* * *

Jaheira was a druid. This meant, among other things, that she was possessed of a bond with nature that was much stronger than most people had. Of course, these days, most people thought a bond with nature mostly meant getting stung a lot by various insects and camping outdoors more than was strictly necessary, or comfortable.

The truth was that Jaheira enjoyed a nice soft bed and a bath, and that was what she'd been getting in the several days she and Khalid had been staying at the Friendly Arm. But there was such a thing as _too much_ of a good thing, and she was beginning to tire of it.

"How long must we wait here?" she asked one morning as they sat at a table in the common room and ate breakfast. She was irritated to note that it came out more as a whine than anything. "Things stir to the south as we sit!" That, at least, sounded slightly more mature, as was expected of a woman of her age and experience.

Her husband gave her a sympathetic look from across the table. "As l-long as it t-takes for them to get here, I must as-assume, my love," he replied.

Jaheira sighed heavily. "Yes, I suppose we must be patient…"

"I kn-know it was never one of your strong s-suits," said Khalid, grinning. She gave him a Look, but smiled.

"It was never one of Gorion's, either, before he found Willow. I suppose becoming a parent, no matter in how strange a way, changes everything."

"I imagine it d-does," agreed Khalid. He took another bite of the oatmeal she had pushed towards him. Khalid performed the husbandly duty of taking over any meal Jaheira didn't finish especially well.

A few moments of comfortable silence followed, broken only by the scraping of Khalid's spoon in the bowl. Then Jaheira said, "Do you suppose it has changed her?"

Khalid set aside the bowl and wiped conscientiously at his mouth with a napkin. He gazed at her again, a troubled look in his eyes. "I d-do hope so."

* * *

It looked as though the rain was coming back. While Willow appreciated the fact that Nature was changing to reflect her mood, she did not appreciate the idea of squelching boots.

"Er, so," she said, attempting to make conversation as they walked. Xzar turned a vacant stare to her. Montaron had untied him as soon as he'd deemed it safe. "Um... how did you two meet?"

"We saw each other across a crowded room and it was love at first sight," said Xzar dreamily.

Montaron scoffed loudly. "We did not! I be preferrin' womenfolk," he added, glancing sullenly at Willow. Somehow it still managed to carry the feel of a leer.

"I see," said Willow again, for lack of a better response. She didn't really see, but she got the feeling that ignorance was the best option when it came to these two. "Um... got any family, then?"

The change in Xzar's appearance was astonishing. The slack jaw tightened and squared and the eyes focused, staring straight at her. She stopped in surprise, and he stopped, too, just long enough to utter, "A sister." He began walking again.

"Oh," replied Willow, weakly. Imoen glanced back at them, but she had been resolutely avoiding contact with their new companions since they had met them, and didn't engage.

"What's her name?" Willow asked as she hurried to catch up to them.

Xzar's face began to lose the look of sanity and competence. "Name? Name? What's in a name? Something starting with A... April? Avril? Axil? Aluminum?"

"Don't bother," muttered Montaron as Xzar began babbling. "Once he gets like this, it ain't no use tryin' to make sense of anythin' he says."

After half an hour more of traveling, they reached a large stone marker that pointed the way to the various places that the road eventually led to. Standing next to it was a tall, grey-bearded old man in red, travel-stained robes. He hailed them with an oaken staff.

"Ho there, wanderer, stay thy course a moment to indulge an old man," he said, his speech patterns as antiquated as the voice that used them.

"My course is pretty much stayed," Willow answered.

The man's mustache twitched as he smiled. "So I see; now for the indulgence. Why dost thou wander the roads, if I may ask? The Sword Coast is a dangerous place in these times. I feel I must inquire as to thy sanity."

"I think before inquiring as to anyone else's, you'd better ask yourself about your own sanity first," replied Willow. "What're you doing standing out here waiting for people to ambush?" The old man smiled even more widely at that, and Imoen sniggered quietly.

"A good answer, young one, a very good answer indeed; thou hast answered my question most thoroughly, and in good time. I wouldst warn you again, then, that these are indeed dangerous times. Thou shouldst choose thy companions carefully," he added, giving a significant glance over to where Montaron and Xzar were standing.

As he walked off, quite nonchalant, Montaron grinned ingratiatingly up at Willow and said, "Senile ol' man, clearly dun't know what he's talkin' about."

Willow said nothing. A few raindrops spattered onto her nose, then onto everything else as it began pouring. Thunder rolled overhead. They began walking once again.

Willow approached the gates of the Friendly Arm with caution, distrustful of names including the word "friend" or variations thereof.

The four of them stood getting poured on while the guard listed the admittedly small number of rules for the inn. Willow only half-listened, knowing that Imoen would listen harder—a thief the girl may be, but that meant having a good grasp of the rules and just how much one could break them.

Once they had been waved through the gate, they slogged through the rapidly filling puddles to the keep. A man was standing just beside the door, looking miserable, but he wasn't wearing a guard's uniform. Instead he sported a set of green robes which were rapidly getting soaked and heavy, judging by the slowed way in which he moved his staff aside so Willow wouldn't trip over it. He looked up at Willow as she made to open the door.

"Excuse me, friend," he said, reaching out to grasp the girl's wrist.

"I don't like being touched by strangers," she said, by way of greeting. "Especially male ones, so kindly take your hand away before I'm forced to send it back to you by messenger." Imoen giggled nervously.

Montaron raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, while Xzar stared blissfully at a flickering torch a few feet away and hummed slightly. The stranger looked taken aback for a moment before he calmly withdrew his hand and said, "No need for that, friend. I've been looking for someone, and I daresay the description given to me matches… well, it matches you. What, might I ask, is your name?"

"Julia Bullington Olivia Dogface the third, good sir," replied Willow. Imoen barely suppressed a second snigger.

The stranger smirked. "Of course, of course. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Tarnesh. Now, as you match said description… would you by any chance be coming here from Candlekeep?"

Willow was quickly tiring of this. "Never heard of it," she said, waving a hand airily. The stories she had read growing up in Candlekeep had been very clear on that point. Never give anyone suspicious any important information about yourself. Of course, Gorion had spent years hammering the same lesson into her head, but it seemed much easier to stomach when it came in the form of a swashbuckling adventure set into print.

"Yes, so I thought," said Tarnesh. "You have been most kind to answer my queries. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to kill you."

Willow saw only the blur as he swung his staff, and then felt the sharp crack in her jaw as it hit. She fell sideways. Imoen started and stumbled backwards as Tarnesh stowed his staff and began casting a spell. Suddenly there were many of him, all in a circle.

Willow shook her head to clear the stars from it and drew the two short swords she'd acquired just the other day at Winthrop's store. She'd only ever fought with one, and that was against a straw dummy. Perhaps listening to Davy Jones hadn't been the best idea.

Montaron was hacking at each mage-image in turn, each hit he scored making another one wink out of existence. Xzar seemed to be muttering a spell, but she couldn't be certain—from what she'd seen so far, Xzar did a lot of muttering.

A blinding flash from Tarnesh's direction and Montaron had no control over his feet, which were taking him swiftly away from the fight. The spell seemed to have the opposite effect on Willow, who plunged forward, swinging wildly with her two blades. It was a wonder she didn't cut off her own head, but somehow she managed to avoid that fate and even succeeded in hitting Tarnesh, though it was only a shallow cut. Still, it hit true flesh rather than a mirror-image.

Several guards were running toward the fray, shouting to each other. Willow stabbed Tarnesh in the arm, making him clutch at the wound. She heard a triumphant cry from Xzar, behind her, and then there was a grey glow around Tarnesh, whose eyes widened in fear and pain. Willow looked back to see Xzar grinning widely, a feverish light in his eyes, as he jerked his hand into a fist and the grey glow came snapping back to envelop him and then disappear. Tarnesh collapsed in a heap.

Panting, Willow decided that now would be a good time to sit down. Her knees agreed, and gave way, making the soggy grass her impromptu chair.

There was a piece of parchment sticking out of a pocket of her assailant's green robes. The guards weren't looking, as most of them were attempting to corral Montaron, who was still affected by the spell. She plucked the paper from his pocket and unfolded it. It was very thick parchment, and bore a drawing of someone that, upon reflection, looked like a rather poor rendering of herself. She read the words.

Imoen kneeled down beside her. "You okay, Wil?"

Willow nodded, but handed her the parchment anyway. Imoen took it and read, and when she was finished, she bit her lip, a worried look on her face. Willow knew why. On it was written:

_Be it known to all those of evil intent, that a bounty has been placed upon the head of Willow of Candlekeep, the foster-child of Gorion._

_Last seen in the area of Candlekeep, this person is to be killed in quick order._

_Those returning with proof of the deed shall receive no less than two hundred coins of gold._

_As always, any that reveal these plans to the forces of law shall join the target in their fate._

* * *

Jaheira was less than happy to find Willow traveling in the company of an insane mage and a clearly violent halfling, escorted into the keep by several guards, and dripping wet. She gave a curt nod to Imoen in recognition of the fact that she was neither suspicious nor possessed of bad hygienic habits, as their other two companions seemed to be, and quickly explained to the guards that she had been waiting for the girl. They seemed to believe her story, which was not terribly surprising, considering that she and Khalid had been staying there for days, now.

Gorion was absent. She pushed aside the sinking feeling and said, "You're late."

Willow, who was looking much older and prettier than when Jaheira had last seen her, looked at her incredulously. "I'm what?"

"You're late. And I notice Gorion is not with you."

Willow looked at Imoen, who was also quite different from before. When she looked back, Jaheira could plainly see the pain in her eyes, and felt herself sigh inwardly with a strange mixture of sadness and relief. "He's… we got attacked. Big guy in spiky armor, and a sword as tall as Gorion is… as Gorion _was_."

Jaheira exchanged glances with Khalid. "We h-had better hear the whole story," he said.

* * *

The rain had almost ceased to pound against the windows some time later, and Willow sat perched on the edge of a chair, listening to Khalid and Jaheira talk. Well, it was mostly Khalid talking; Jaheira was spending more time looking at Willow. It was a piercing gaze, like that of a hawk.

Jaheira had examined Willow's jaw where Tarnesh's staff had hit it and declared it undamaged except for the bruise. Willow would have liked to have argued, as she thought it felt _plenty_ damaged, but settled for rolling her eyes when the druid's back was turned.

Xzar and Montaron had retired to their rooms early, Montaron muttering something about "having to tie the mage down before bed." Imoen was yawning widely but seemed keen to stay and listen to the two older adventurers, and Willow wasn't about to wax parental and send her up to bed. Though she didn't really show it, Willow was just as interested in their tales of Gorion and how they had all met, though she suspected she wasn't getting the full story.

As the conversation turned once again to the fight outside, Jaheira said, "Show me this note you mentioned, child."

Willow shrugged and slid the parchment she had discreetly picked from Tarnesh's pocket across the table, where Jaheira picked it up and began reading.

It didn't take long for her to reach the end, and she handed the note to Khalid, looking pensive. "This is grave news, indeed," she said. "A bounty on one so young is unusual… though not unheard of. Still, I wonder what you have done to attract such attention. It is fortuitous enough that the guards here have backed up your claim that this man attacked you first."

"He did!" said Imoen indignantly. Willow nodded in agreement.

"Th-this seems a shady operation t-to me," said Khalid as he finished reading. "A more legitimate b-bounty would be offered by the Flaming Fist, not these… 'appropriate guilds'."

"This is true," replied Jaheira, nodding slowly. "Have you any idea who might wish you ill?" she asked, looking back at Willow.

"Beats me," Willow replied, as Imoen shrugged and looked puzzled. "I mean, sure, I knew someone was trying to kill me, what with me and Gorion getting attacked in the woods, and all. But I dunno why."

There was silence all around the table at that. After a moment, Khalid announced, "Now w-would b-be a good time for b-bed, I think. It is the m-middle of the n-night, after all."

The suggestion was met with general approval. Imoen stretched like a cat, uttering a loud groan which luckily went unnoticed, the common room being as empty as it was. The young thief went ahead of Willow, who was gathering up her pack, and Jaheira and Khalid climbed the stairs after her.

Following them, Willow caught a faint snippet of conversation as the breeze of their passage carried it back to her. "P-perhaps she is simply the wrong person," Khalid was saying in low tones. "Perhaps it is simply a mistake."

"No," replied Jaheira in as faint a whisper. "We know perfectly well why she was targeted. With her, there are no mistakes."

* * *

That night, Jaheira dreamed of lakes of fire and cackling voices, and also of oak groves and cool blue ponds, and also of Gorion and Khalid laughing and talking. She dreamed of a small, thin girl with red-blond hair and big hazel eyes, sitting on a chair in front of Gorion's desk. She dreamed of an auburn-haired waif picking Khalid's pocket while he pretended not to notice. She dreamed of grey cloaks and sad eyes and the smell of very old parchment. And she also dreamed of a dark-skinned boy with doe-eyes, plucking the wings off a butterfly.


	3. Mistakes and Lessons

Their accommodations at the Friendly Arm were simple, but comfortable. The beds were stuffed with fresh straw, and there wasn't a rat in sight, which Willow had read was a common problem with inns. Imoen was already asleep. It had been a hard day, after all. There was still a candle burning on the small table by the window. Willow carefully pulled from her pack the letter she had taken from Gorion's body.

First, she studied the seal. It was broken, but the imprint of an 'E' was still easily visible. The letter had many flourishes and twists and turns, presumably to make it look more professional. It was made of simple candle wax.

Taking a deep breath, she slowly opened the letter, which had been folded in on itself to form its own envelope. The handwriting was neat, but hurried; the word choice revealed extensive education. It said:

_Please forgive the abruptness with which I now write, but time is short and there is much to be done. What we have long feared may soon come to pass, though not in the manner foretold, and certainly not in the proper time frame. As we both know, forecasting these events has proved increasingly difficult, leaving little option other than a leap of faith. We have done what we can for those in thy care, but the time nears when we must step back and let matters take what course they will. We have, perhaps, been a touch too sheltering to this point._

_Despite my desire to remain neutral in this matter, I could not, in good conscience, let events proceed without some measure of warning. The other side will move very soon, and I urge thee to leave Candlekeep this very night, if possible. The darkness may seem equally threatening, but a moving target is much harder to hit, regardless of how sparse the cover. A fighting chance is all that can be asked for at this point._

_Should anything go awry, do not hesitate to seek aid from travelers along the way. I do not need to remind thee that it is a dangerous land, even without our current concerns, and a party is stronger than an individual in all respects. Should additional assistance be required, I understand that Jaheira and Khalid are currently at the Friendly Arm Inn. They know little of what has passed here, but they are ever thy friends and will no doubt help however they can._

_Luck be with us all._

_I'm getting too old for this._

_E_

Willow read the letter several more times, and then pulled out her bounty notice. "All those of evil intent" were apparently hunting for her. But what had she done? The worst thing she could think of that she had even been involved with lately was the time when Imoen had dyed the monk Karan's boots pink, and that was several months back. Not to mention that it didn't exactly deserve a death sentence.

Sighing, she resigned herself to not knowing anything right now, if ever. At least it looked as though Jaheira and Khalid had a plan; they had spoken of traveling to the Nashkel iron mines, as they had been hired by the mayor to investigate some trouble they had been having. It might even be an adventure.

_Adventure_! she sighed to herself in her head as she readied herself for sleep. The thought, despite being overshadowed by Gorion's death, excited her like no other. _Khalid said he would help me and Immy find a lot in life. Maybe it'll be adventuring. I'd better make a good impression tomorrow._

That might be difficult, she realized, thinking of Jaheira's shrewd stare. Ah, well. She would just have to try.

Thoughts of all the adventures she had read of filled her mind as Willow drifted off to sleep. Fencing, fighting, true love, revenge, miracles... they were all waiting, just for her...

While Willow and her motley crew slept soundly, many miles away, a young man sat down to his supper.

Supper was his least favorite time of day. Torn between studying his spellbooks for hours on end and avoiding the humiliating situation of passing out from hunger in the middle of a cantrip, he also disliked it because it was almost impossible not to ruin his red robes with an errant drop of stew or a piece of meat too slippery to stay on the fork. Magic was useful for almost infinite possibilities, but it ruined clothing, especially silk, and therefore he could not use it to remove grease spots.

And, oh, were Amnians greasy. Or rather, would-be Amnians who could not seem to grasp the fact that they were both too ugly and too poor to be truly Amnish. Anyone who tried to make the argument that hard labor was what _produced_ the wealth of Amn would get a piece of Edwin Odesseiron's mind. He had plenty to go around. Although it was hardly worth wasting on all but his fellow Red Wizards…

As he consumed his unidentifiable meat substance as quickly as he could, Edwin peered around the inn. None of the guests so far looked like suitably idiotic (but pliable) dupes for his plans. Soon, soon he would find someone to kill that wretched witch and he could return home. And then he could find the bastard that had given the incomparable Edwin Odesseiron such a menial task and shove a large seasoned onion between the lips he never kissed with.

But first, he had to have help. Not because his magic couldn't easily cut down both the witch and her protector, but because he had a slight bit of trouble keeping people from trying to hack his arms off while he was casting spells. A suitable few dim-witted adventurers for a meat-shield and all would be right with the world.

Yes, Edwin was on his way to the top. Soon, it would be _he_ giving menial tasks. And they would _like_ it.

* * *

Not so much farther away from Edwin, a woman was being abducted.

She was, to provide more detail, being slung over the shoulder of a huge, hairy, and above all, stinky creature called a gnoll, as an almost equally huge man slashed at it with a two-handed sword. Despite his obvious rage, the man could not continue his hacking, as the gnoll turned around and pelted for the foothills, taking the woman with him.

"Minsc!" she called back to him. But he couldn't answer, because he had been hit over the head with the handle of a poleaxe.

The gnolls left the body in the dirt as they followed their companion into the mountains.

* * *

Candlekeep, Hull reflected sadly, was a lot quieter without Willow or Imoen around.

He sighed heavily, not for the first time that night. He'd had a hangover all day. Normally, if he could convince her, Willow would have sauntered down to the barracks to raid his footlocker and bring him back an antidote potion. He liked watching her saunter. She was good at it. She was even better at making the potions taste better by mixing them with a bit of water and some sugar.

"Won't that make it… not work?" he'd asked her one day as he'd watched her shake the whole concoction together.

"Nah," she'd replied, pouring it into a large mug, "The potion's mostly water anyway, and the sugar won't interact with any of the ingredients. It's all natural."

But she was gone, and so was Imoen, who'd been less good at making them palatable but had always been willing to help anyway. He'd seen some strange flashing lights the night before; he hoped they were alright. He wasn't even sure if Imoen had gone with the other two; he had just seen her sneak out the gates. But she did that often enough, mostly to visit the village, and she had always come back before.

Hull was just beginning to get sleepy, as he usually did right before his shift ended, when there was some shouting down at the gates. He shook himself to full awareness. There was a man wielding a torch down there, waving and shouting that he had something he thought belonged to Candlekeep.

The young guard squinted as the man hoisted a long, blanket-rolled package to a better position on his shoulder. It looked almost like… a body.

The gates were opened quickly. The man, who was the sort who told everyone his life's story within minutes of meeting them, told the few guards that gathered around him that he was a merchant-turned-hermit, and that he really shouldn't be talking to them, but that he was quite certain a murder was one of those times hermits were supposed to break hermiting rules. Hull unrolled the blanket. Inside, looking stiff and slightly bloated, was Gorion.

The Gatewarden came trotting up, looking as though he'd just gotten out of bed. He took one look at the body and turned to Hull.

"Go get Ulraunt."

* * *

Like the nameless and ultimately thankless hermit who had delivered Gorion's body, Marise Dawn had only recently become a hermit herself. One day her innate frustration with people had come to a head, and she'd snapped, and packed up a bag and walked out the door of her house and never come back.

But because she was new to the hermit bit, she often got lonely. It was strange, how you could hate having to deal with people so much, and then to miss them just as fervently when you had no contact with them. And that was why she now had a huge bear of a man in her bed.

He was so tall that his legs hung off the end of the bed and his feet touched the floor. Marise had done her best to cover them but the blanket just kept falling off. Then again, perhaps this was because he was flailing so much. It was the fever that did it; hallucinations were common when the body was so hot it was nearly turning itself inside-out.

His face was a picture of agony. Sweat drenched his forehead, he cried out in his unconsciousness, and as the fever took a solid hold his arms jerked as though he were trying to lop someone's head off.

She used all the herb-lore she knew to fight the infection. Finally, near midnight, he calmed and seemed to sink from being only barely awake to a deep sleep. He slept, and Marise relaxed.

* * *

Xzar was relatively stable the next morning, but Montaron kept close to him just the same. It was habit by now; if he didn't stay close enough to restrain him, it was all the harder to clean up the mess later.

They sat at a table in the corner, Montaron glaring at everyone but the busty waitress who occasionally ventured over to refill their drinks; for her, he pulled out a well-practiced leer. She didn't spend much time nearby, but that was alright. Perhaps later, before they left, he could pay her a little "visit."

Willow and the rest of her goody-goody friends were sitting at a table near the bar. She occasionally sent a glance their way. Eventually she stood, and Montaron sighed in exasperation as she made her way through the crowd to them. After a moment, Imoen followed. She probably didn't want Willow to be alone with them.

A fairly understandable fear, come to think of it…

"Why aren't you eating with us?" demanded Willow as she came to the edge of the table.

"Why aren't ye eating with us?" retorted Montaron. He answered before she could: "Because I've got a crazy mage wit' me, that's why. Ye wouldn't wanna see him angry."

Imoen glanced at Xzar, who was blowing bubbles in his drink.

"I think we should spend as much time together as possible," said Willow. "Learn to trust each other, kinda thing." She had an expression that was clearly meant to be a "fearless leader" face. It fell short. "If we're going to be traveling to Nashkel and helping out the people there, we ought to at least be practicing fighting and such together."

"An' I think ye still wouldn't like eatin' wit' the mage," said Montaron, jerking a thumb at Xzar, who was now holding out an unnaturally long tongue to catch a strip of meat. "So ye best get back t' yer table and leave us be."

"Right," said Willow, squaring her shoulders. "If that's the way it's gonna be… don't bother coming with us today."

The halfling narrowed his eyes at her. "Eh?"

"If you can't behave as though you're in a group, a family of sorts, then you shouldn't be in one to begin with."

Montaron snorted. "_Family_? Looky here, girl, don't be shovin' yer dead Da on us—"

"Enough!" commanded Willow, and Montaron found to his surprise that he stopped talking. "We don't need you. Thank you for coming this far with us. Goodbye."

She spun on her heel and marched off. Imoen blinked in surprise and hurried after.

"Monty, they're going to hurt us if we can't find someone interesting!" moaned Xzar, looking forlorn. His facial tattoos drooped as he frowned.

Montaron huffed and said, "Aye, but we found 'er… no need to stick wit' her if we know where she's headed to…"

* * *

After the "discussion" with Montaron, Willow was in good spirits. A good conflict was the spice of life, after all, and they had something to look forward to.

Khalid was telling them the route they would be taking to Nashkel. Willow, despite a sudden feeling that it was a childish sort of dream, had mentioned her heroic aspirations. Jaheira had harrumphed and muttered something about "books and nonsense planting silly ideas in young heads," but agreed with Khalid's previous promise to help the two girls establish a way in life. Now they were simply waiting for the couple to finish their breakfast.

Willow was almost bouncing in her seat all through the rest of the meal. Khalid seemed untroubled, but Jaheira made comment almost immediately: "Sit still, child, you're rocking the table. Are you not supposed to be at least twenty years old?"

"Supposed to be," Willow retorted with a wide grin. She sat still. Soon she started tapping her foot.

Jaheira gave Khalid a look that clearly said, "This is going to be a long, hard journey. Please don't let me commit a murder." She refrained from commenting on the foot tapping, but it was clear to everyone that they should hurry to finish eating, and so they did.

* * *

On the way out the door, Imoen wondered how to get Jaheira's attention. She didn't seem the type to be easily pulled aside for a moment. Luckily, Jaheira looked around at her at the right moment, and so Imoen said, in low tones, "Don't worry, she just gets like this sometimes. Impatient, y'know? It usually passes after a while. At most it lasts a few days."

Jaheira's brows knit as she considered this information, looking past Imoen to see Willow skipping out the door. "Has she been like this long?" she asked.

"Ever since I can remember. It's not important, is it?" Imoen had never given much thought to it, preferring instead to think of her friend as "quirky."

"No… no, I suppose it isn't. Let's get moving."

Imoen followed Jaheira out the door, wondering if she was missing something.

* * *

Willow was even more irritating on the road.

With nothing to look at but trees and the ocean of mud left from the previous two nights' storms, not to mention the occasional signpost, she was bursting with energy that had no outlet. Whenever she got like this it was as if she couldn't bear to sit down or to do anything other than run and jump and party like it was just after the Time of Troubles. But this was different from Candlekeep, where, despite the lack of anything truly fun to do, you could at least go have a good number of pints in the inn. Here on the road all she could was sing.

Not being a bard, Willow was not precisely skilled at singing. She could carry a tune or two, but they tended to behave as though they were going through a messy divorce, and refused to be associated with each other for more than a few bars. In other words, she was mediocre at best.

Jaheira looked as though she was already developing a headache. Khalid, ever the kind one, came to the rescue. "W-Willow, there are m-m-many creatures out here that wish us i-ill. You're likely to call them all down u-upon us!"

"I can't help it, I just can't stand all this walking with nothing to do!" Willow protested. She looked at Imoen, strangely silent the entire morning. "C'mon, Immy, back me up. There aren't any big bad monsters out here to get us, are there?"

Imoen was about answer when she was interrupted by a ten-foot-tall ogre crashing through the trees. She turned around just in time to stumble backwards out of the path of a huge, swinging club.

Willow stared up at the ogre's face, the jaw full of sharp teeth gnashing and a single, long, drip of saliva hanging from the corner of its mouth. It lifted its club, and without even thinking, Willow leapt sideways and crashed to the ground just in time-- the club whistled as it passed just over her head.

Khalid and Jaheira leapt into action immediately. Khalid sprinted forward to drag Imoen out of the path of the ogre's next swing. Jaheira began slinging bullets, aiming for the creature's head.

Recovering slightly, Willow sprang to her feet and drew her swords. The ogre was twice as tall as she was. How exactly was she supposed to damage it?

The highest thing she could reach was a kneecap. She started slashing as hard as she could.

_Well, this is heroic_, she thought as she narrowly dodged another swing of the ogre's club. _An adventurer hacking at an ogre's knees. I wonder if many famous people get this kind of start to their careers_?

Khalid had moved in to jab at the ogre's feet. Imoen, recovered from the shock, was firing shaky arrows at its head, trying to do more damage than the swordsmen were doing.

But it was Jaheira who, with a bullet to the eye, finally felled the beast. It stopped swinging, looking astonished, as the bullet sank deep into its brain. It dropped to its knees, swaying as if caught in a high wind, before finally collapsing face-first to the road with a grunt.

Willow was about to prod it with a stick to see if was truly dead when Jaheira latched onto her arm with an iron grip. The druid turned her around to face her. Willow found herself wishing she were someone different.

"Child," began Jaheira, obviously exercising considerable restraint, "I know you are new to the ways of traveling. But I do not ever wish to see you put everyone in such danger again. You nearly got Imoen killed, and possibly the rest of us." She stared Willow in the eye as the girl tried not to look at her. "I am telling you this now because I know you don't know me well enough to disregard it yet."

Willow picked a particularly interesting rock in the road and stared at it.

"I was the same way when I first started out on the road," Jaheira said, more softly. "The excitement wears off after a while."

Jaheira released her, and Willow rubbed at her arm, still not looking up. "I can't help it," she said, but she didn't think Jaheira heard her.

They collected two belts from the body of the ogre, along with a few stray coins, and continued south to Beregost, considerably quieter.

* * *

The same morning, Minsc woke up.

This was a complicated process that involved a lot of blinking, because he could barely see through all the spots in his vision, and a lot of trying not to move, because it caused a good deal of pain if he did.

Eventually he became aware of a face above him. While his vision was hazy, he could make out a mass of what was probably white hair. Through the pain in his head, he remembered that white hair meant elders, and elders were meant to be treated with respect, not strangled for being vaguely involved in an injury on your part. But… Drow also had white hair. What if she was a Drow? But no… her skin was pale, not black. Why was everything so confusing?

The face was lined and wrinkled, surrounded by short-cropped and tightly curled hair. The pale green eyes that were peering at him sparkled with intelligence and more than a hint of general impatience. The mouth was a tight line. Minsc decided, once and for all, not to mess with the owner of this face.

"You had a nasty knock on the head," said the mouth. Minsc was having trouble concentrating on too many features at once. "If I hadn't found you the wolves might've got to you. Or the flies and then the maggots, nesting in the wound; whichever came first." The voice was definitely female. She turned around to do something Minsc couldn't see.

She reappeared a second later and helped him sit up enough to drink a sip or two of water. "Name's Marise," she continued as he slurped messily. "Marise Dawn. Likely you won't remember that, but I can always tell you again later. You'll be staying in bed a few days, hear?"

Minsc tried to say something, something along the lines of "Thank you very much, little grandmother, but I am a mighty warrior, I have no need of nursing!" But all that came out was "Thnkghh…" He cleared his throat and tried again. The second attempt was even less coherent than the last.

_Ah, well_, he thought as he passed out again. _Minsc will try again tomorrow_…

* * *

Montaron was not at all skilled in tracking, which was just as good, because the goody-goodies Khalid and Jaheira seemed to be taking the girls to Nashkel on the road. Personally, the halfling thought this was an idiotic idea; if he had someone trying to kill him (which was often the case), he always traveled as inconspicuously as possible. He hated the forest, but he hated wasting his time with fights that were hardly worth it even more.

They had had to wait an appropriate amount of time after Willow's departure to leave, themselves; the innkeeper, a gnome named Bentley, had been giving them suspicious looks all morning. Montaron suspected that he was friends with the goody half-elves, and didn't want to raise any alarms. Xzar was behaving strangely well, quietly following behind the halfling as they walked down the road, and he didn't want to have any more trouble than the mage already was.

"Monty, when are we gonna get a puppy?" asked Xzar suddenly in his whiniest, most childish voice. Montaron rolled his eyes at the road ahead.

"Never," he replied gruffly.

"Awww," pouted Xzar. "Then they'll be wanting to hurt us!" His voice changed, became deeper and smoother. "If you ask me, we should take the redheaded one. She may not prove useful, but she'd be fabulously entertaining. That's just my two Zhents."

"Take yer two Zhents an' shove 'em," said Montaron, but secretly agreed. A puppy, indeed...

* * *

The company reached Beregost just after nightfall. Jaheira and Khalid seemed to have been there before, and therefore did not pay much attention to the sights around them. Imoen and Willow, however, stared about with wide eyes—Beregost was a far cry from Candlekeep and its tiny village. Even in the dark the girls could tell that Beregost was quite a large town, and as an added bonus, not constantly in the shadow of a huge keep.

Jaheira came over to speak with Willow, who tried to keep the apprehension out of her face. Imoen wandered off in—Willow suspected—any direction but theirs.

"Oh, stop flinching," were the first words out of Jaheira's mouth. Then, "I said nothing Gorion would not have said, unless he has softened much in the past years."

Willow conveniently forgot to mention that, indeed, Gorion could be quite a hard taskmaster and disciplinarian when he had wanted to be. The problem was that he had never gotten the chance to give her wilderness survival lessons, and it seemed harder coming from Jaheira than it would Gorion.

"Never mind, there is the matter of lodging to discuss," continued Jaheira when Willow didn't reply. "We are certainly not yet affluent enough to stay at Feldepost's, but there is a small inn in the south section of the town called—"

"The Jovial Juggler!" exclaimed Imoen as she bounced up to them.

"How did you know that?" asked Jaheira, looking at Imoen suspiciously, as if she had lied about her entire upbringing and had been to Beregost many times before this.

"That man over there told me," replied Imoen, pointing back at an older man, who waved at them and walked off.

"G-gathering information f-from the locals already!" said Khalid. "We'll make an adventurer out of you y-yet." He smiled at Imoen, who beamed back.

Jaheira looked skeptical but said nothing.

"To the Jovial Juggler, then?" asked Willow.

They made their way south, Jaheira setting a quick pace. Willow paused to look down a street toward what must have been Feldepost's; it was a large building, with lights in almost every window. Several women in skimpy clothing were standing around outside it, looking bored. Willow wasn't so sheltered that she didn't know what they were waiting for: men with enough coin to buy their "time" for the evening.

The Jovial Juggler was much smaller than Feldepost's, but they could hear the music coming from it long before they could see the building. It had a brightly colored sign with a jester on it, and several young men were sitting on barrels outside, laughing and joking. One of them whistled drunkenly at the three women as they passed by; Khalid glared at him and the boy fell off his perch. Willow and Imoen had a good laugh at that.

Inside was a blur of people dancing, drinking, guffawing, drinking, sitting down, standing up, talking, and drinking yet more. The two girls were astonished, but they gave each other knowing looks as if to say, "Oh yes, we're coming down here later."

Jaheira and Khalid fought their way to the innkeeper through the crowds while Willow and Imoen waited near a staircase. Imoen seemed to have regained much of the energy and joviality she had lost since they'd found Gorion's body, and was clapping along with everyone else at the dancers, who were actually quite good at what they were doing. Complicated spins and twists were being performed everywhere, it seemed.

An older man sitting in a chair nearby commented, "It is most impressive, is it not?"

"Sure is!" said Imoen loudly over the noise. "Is it always like this?"

The man nodded and adjusted his seat. He hissed and grabbed at one leg as though it pained him.

"Something wrong?" asked Willow.

He shook his head, though his face was tight. "I am… recovering from some injuries inflicted by a band of half-ogres to the south of town. I was sent to see if I could stop their bandit activities; as a paladin, I am duty-bound to help."

"Why half-ogres, though?" asked Imoen. She pointed to the holy symbol pinned to his tunic: a stylized enamel sun rising over rolling hills, surrounded by a thin, circular band of gold. "Lathander's clerics are better for undead problems, right?"

The paladin smiled at that. "Clever girl." Imoen colored slightly in pleasure. "Yes, you are right. I did not originally come to Beregost to fight half-ogres, though my detour to find them was my undoing. I came seeking a mad cleric named Bassilus, who is apparently raising a veritable army of skeletons."

"We'll be sure to avoid him, then," said Willow. Imoen nodded.

"A fine plan," said the paladin. "I will have to do so myself…" He sighed heavily. "I am afraid the patrons tire of my presence, as well. A paladin can be somewhat of a damper on the festivities. And one man seems to think I am here only to make him nervous."

Willow shrugged helplessly. "I guess you could change inns…"

He shook his head again and smiled at the two girls. "I should not burden you with my troubles. Thank you for lending a willing ear, however."

Imoen grinned. "No problem!"

Jaheira and Khalid appeared again from out of the crowd and gestured towards the nearest staircase as a loud cheer arose from the dance floor, making it impossible to hear what they were saying. They all ascended the staircase, and were immediately accosted by a disheveled-looking man who yelled, "He knows! But he doesn't know that I know that he knows that I know that _he_ knows that I'm up here! And you won't tell him, right? Right? _Right_??" Imoen fell backwards against Willow under the verbal onslaught, nearly knocking the both of them down the steps.

Receiving no answer but wide-eyed stares, he screeched, "Recent evidence suggests that a barrel of monkeys is not half as much fun as previously thought, and is, in fact, RATHER HORRIFYING!" and wheeled around to run into a room. They heard several locks locking and then a strange silence.

Willow and Imoen looked at each other and burst into laughter, while Jaheira rolled her eyes futilely at the door and gestured for everyone to follow her. Khalid looked bemused at the entire situation.

At the end of the hallway Khalid gestured to a door and said, "Th-this is your room, girls. We'll be starting early, s-so get plenty of rest. Goodnight!" He smiled at them and opened the door to he and his wife's room, while Jaheira looked pointedly at them.

"I saw the looks you were giving the commotion downstairs," she said. "If you simply must investigate, try not to do so for too long. You heard Khalid: we will be leaving early." She followed Khalid into the room and shut the door.

"Gee, not so much as a goodnight from Jaheira," Willow muttered as she walked into the room. It was by no means luxurious, but it seemed to be comfortable enough, and there were no bedbugs.

Imoen tested the mattress on one of the beds by jumping on it. She grinned up at Willow and said, "Aw, yer just mad 'cause you almost got me killed."

Willow rolled her eyes but looked away. Imoen wasn't discouraged and said, "C'mon, don't be all buffleheaded. You know what she said was right, but she's not that bad when you get right down to it. Gorion woulda said the same thing."

"Shut up," retorted Willow, but grinned toothily at her friend. "Maybe I should stop being so hard on her. It's not like I know her that well, I suppose…"

"Exactly, so hurry up and let's get down there and party!"

Neither of them had brought anything even remotely dressy to wear, so they settled for washing their faces and brushing the tangles out of their hair. Willow put her hands in her pockets to empty them, in case of pickpockets taking advantage of the crowd, and encountered the letter she had taken from Gorion's body. "Hang on a moment," she said, pulling it out, along with two copper coins and a piece of string. "I never read this to you."

Imoen peered over her shoulder as she sat at the desk to smooth the parchment out. "Who's 'E', anyway?"

Willow shrugged. "Dunno." She read the letter aloud to Imoen, who listened intently. Afterwards, she was silent for several moments as she contemplated this new information.

"Well, I guess we did the right thing, pickin' up Khalid and Jaheira," began Imoen slowly. Willow nodded. "An' pro'ly the right thing getting rid of those two creeps, too."

"Who do we know that talks like this guy writes?" asked Willow suddenly. "None of the monks, since they would've just told Gorion anything they thought he needed to know..."

Imoen shrugged. "Everybody I remember that visited Gorion talked like that," she said. "Mages an' their diction and grammar," she added, as if this was something to be ashamed of. Willow declined to mention that she had spoken the same way until Willow had given her a book about thieves and their grammatically-incorrect brethren.

"Yeah," agreed Willow. "But I can't help but feel like it's important…"

Imoen shrugged again, and jumped a little, clapping her hands once. "Anyway, it can wait! Let's go eat, drink, an' be merry!"

Willow grinned. "Yeah, I guess it can. How's my hair?"

"Floppy as ever," said Imoen. "How's mine?"

"Messy," said Willow, reaching out and tousling it. Imoen shrieked with laughter.

On the way down the stairs, Willow looked at Imoen's bright pink outfit, clashing horribly with her auburn hair, and said, "Hey, you oughta fit right in here."

"Pink is the color of passion!" replied Imoen.

Loud cheers greeted their ears as yet another feat was performed by the young men and women on the dance floor, and they headed towards the bar…

* * *

Meanwhile, in an inn in Nashkel, Edwin Odesseiron was having a far more irritating and seemingly futile time than the two young girls in Beregost.

Edwin's journal, such as it was, was filled to the brim with writing. But it wasn't the usual kind of writing—being an unsentimental sort, he used it for notes, reminders, and shopping lists instead of the usual drabble most people wrote in their journals. Right now he was detailing the horrible day he had had, in his usual shorthand:

_Met party of adventurers and offered wildly imaginative prospect of treasure as incentive for helping keep my personage from fate as bear food—no takers. V. V. annoyed. Will perhaps Fireball them in their sleep._

_Have feeling that suitable group of dupes (must stop unintentionally rhyming) is approaching, but have not yet found them. Divination incredibly stupid form of magic anyway, but magic nonetheless; hunches almost worse. Must stop eating greasy stew before bedtime, as seems to be making me prone to such._

_Also must remember to get more bat guano at next magic supply store encountered; almost out and barbarians here just look at me funny when I ask about it. Simians._

Satisfied, Edwin closed his journal, put the usual sealing spells on it, and commenced to studying his spellbooks. This took the usual three hours (it didn't really need to take that long, but Edwin was a perfectionist), and he was properly tired before the end of it. He didn't bother to take off his robes before getting in bed. He was asleep almost before he hit the pillow.

* * *

Whatever else could be said about Willow, she had potential. Potential in most things, except perhaps for singing, but especially in movement. She liked moving. It usually involved some sort of enjoyment, unless it was running for her life as it had been those few nights ago. And dancing. Dancing was good.

She reeled with the best of them, jigged like there was no tomorrow, and waltzed her way into a few young men's affections. She liked the looks she was getting, but at the same time… she couldn't help but feel that it was too soon. Gorion had died less than three days ago. Should she have recovered so quickly?

Thoughts of her foster-father plagued her until she finally sat down at the bar in-between dances. Imoen soon joined her.

"Whatsa matter?" she asked.

Willow shook her head. "I dunno… it's just… Gorion's gone, y'know? And here I am dancing like he never existed…"

Imoen frowned. "Well… but nobody ever said you had to be miserable the rest of your life."

"No, but it's been such a short time!" protested Willow. "I feel awful."

"Best remedy for a broken heart is a dizzy head," interjected the barkeeper helpfully. Imoen glared at him and waved him away.

"You don't need t' feel awful, Wil…" she began, but Imoen had always found that when Willow got depressed there was little to help her. Already she could see the signs: Willow was putting her head in her hands, slumping onto the counter, like she always did just before she started acting listless.

"Maybe we _should_ have a few drinks," said Imoen, and the barkeeper was back within a moment. "Er… what's the best stuff you have?"

The barkeeper promptly smiled widely and pointed to the most expensive thing on the menu.


	4. Accidents and Elves

Willow was not willowy.

She was, in fact, rather short and wiry. Her muscles, more noticeable after she began her fencing lessons with Candlekeep's arms-master, looked like corded rope more than a tree limb. In fact, the only thing that remotely connected her appearance to her name was her hair, which, while certainly not green, was very fine and hung like the leafy vines that cascade from Weeping Willows.

If she had been willowy instead of wiry, perhaps it wouldn't have hurt so much when she barged into Jaheira the next morning while opening the door. A sharp rapping on the wood had woken both she and Imoen. Imoen had groaned and rolled over in a bleary effort to escape the noise, but had ended up on the floor. Willow, her head hurting so much she thought she would die, got up and opened the door. Opening a door is a simple action, when sober, but in Willow's state she had overshot it and fallen face-first into Jaheira as she'd raised her fist to begin knocking again.

An hour later, sporting a bruise on one cheekbone to match the one from Tarnesh's staff on the other, Willow had found herself standing in all-too-bright sunlight outside the inn with an irate druid next to her and Imoen trying to lean her entire body-weight on her while also looking like she could stand on her own.

"The revelry of last night was too much to resist, I see," Jaheira was saying. "No matter, 'adventurers' must learn to work through such things."

Imoen groaned.

"Don't see why…" Willow began, but lost her train of thought. Her tongue felt like it was made of… felt. Wet felt. Impossibly wet and yet incredibly _dry_ felt. Water. Water would be a good idea.

Jaheira handed her a flask. "Alcohol dehydrates the body more than a night spent swallowing seawater," she lectured as Willow gulped at it. "I hope this has taught you another badly-needed lesson."

Willow nodded helplessly as Imoen weakly tried to wrestle the flask from her. They had both had the occasional ale at Candlekeep, but had never truly drunk enough to become inebriated before last night. Clearly, they were not cut out for the drunkard's lifestyle.

"I remember the f-first time I got drunk," Khalid remarked, looking sympathetic. "I d-drank so much my brothers had to carry me upstairs, after I had already made s-several rather embarrassing propositions to the barmaid… I vomited for an hour the next morning."

"Speaking of which…" gasped Imoen as she staggered over to a nearby barrel to be violently sick.

Jaheira sighed and bent over the girl, pulling back her hair as she heaved. Khalid did the same for Willow a moment later as she made a mess of the cobblestones. His cool fingers on her neck and forehead reminded her of Gorion caring for her when she was small and sick and for a moment she wondered if tears would be added to the mix.

Willow staggered away a pace to kneel on the cobblestones and wipe hastily at her eyes while no one was looking, but there were no tears, anyway. She seemed to be getting better at handling her mourning.

"I feel like Death ran over me on his big white horse, turned around, and ran over me again," Imoen moaned from where she was lying on the ground. Jaheira was attempting in exasperation to get the girl back onto her feet. Luckily this was not a busy part of town, during the day at least, and so they weren't in danger of being run over by carts, but the few people walking the street at this relatively early hour were beginning to point and stare. And laugh. Willow managed to get to her feet and accept the flask again, this time from Khalid.

When she was through rinsing her mouth and taking a few extra gulps, she said, "Let's get going."

Jaheira nodded and added to Imoen, "If you are through making a spectacle of yourself."

Imoen, who was about to protest, decided not to bother and made an effort to get up. Her body did not want to obey, however, and so she accepted a hand from Willow and Jaheira both. Soon they were walking (or a close approximation, rather) down the road.

They decided that they had best take advantage of a town this size, to stock up on what supplies they could afford. Jaheira took Imoen in the direction of a general store and Khalid and Willow headed towards the blacksmith.

Taerom "Thunderhammer" Fuiruim was a huge, beefy man, with somewhat unkempt whiskers, who didn't so much talk as boom. His enthusiastic greeting when they walked into the store made Willow's head hurt all the more, in addition to the sharp clangs and bangs that come with every blacksmith the world over. Several young men were working with varying degrees of success at the forges, producing rather bent swords or oversized spearheads.

"What can I get for ye today?" asked Thunderhammer, to which Khalid replied, "I th-think we'll just have a look around, th-thank you."

"Aye, look all ye want, and ye can even touch, 's'long as ye don't steal!" replied Thunderhammer amiably and began making his rounds to inspect his apprentices' work.

As they examined the handiwork, Khalid began explaining to Willow the finer points of selecting weapons. She couldn't help but think that it might work better if she wasn't hung-over, since words like "tang" and phrases such as "ideally the full width of the blade" were flying right through her mind on their way to somewhere else. But she tried her best to keep up, and was once again reminded of Gorion. He had once tried to instruct her in magic, which had gone predictably badly. His eyebrows had taken a long time to grow back.

A short sword, not unlike the two at her belt, caught her eye. This one was shinier, somehow, and felt… different.

"Ah, an enchanted s-sword," said Khalid. "Taerom makes many weapons, but only a f-few get the attention of Thalantyr. Then again, l-little besides an earthquake gets his attention, h-holed up as he is in High Hedge." He picked the sword up and examined it. He tested the weight and the blade. Looked at the leather wrapped around the hilt. "Yes, a f-fine weapon."

"Well, are we going to get it?" asked Willow.

Khalid smiled at her. "I'm afraid we d-don't have that kind of gold." He set the weapon back on its stand. "Perhaps later."

Willow gave it a final longing look before she followed him further into the store.

Twenty minutes later, bearing arrows and not much more, Khalid and Willow met Imoen and Jaheira in the center of town. The two other women were loaded down with packs heavy with rations, which were soon divided more evenly amongst the group, much to Imoen's vocal relief.

"J-Jerky and other dried goods are perfect for traveling," explained Khalid as they rearranged their packs as they sat on a bench. "It keeps p-particularly long, and c-can be transported easily."

Willow sniffed gingerly at a piece of the jerky and took a hesitant bite. "Leaves taste to be desired, though," she said after a few moments of thoughtful chewing.

"T-True," admitted Khalid, shrugging.

"We'll be hunting fresh meat as needed," assured Jaheira. She nodded at the arrows Willow and Khalid had bought. "We will teach you how to track game and kill it as humanely as possible."

"Oh, hey, speaking of humane killing," said Imoen, pulling a book from her bag and handing it Willow, "Guess who we ran into? Firehair Elvenbead! He told me t' give you this."

Willow looked down at the cover of the book. It was black leather, embossed with gold lettering, and titled _History of the Bell in the Depths: 'Knucklebones, Skull-Bowling, and the Empty Throne_.'

"Gee," said Willow. "Thanks. Why'd he remind you of killing stuff, thought?" she added.

Imoen grinned. "Remember how much he talks? Talk about bein' bored to death!"

The girls giggled as Jaheira and Khalid maintained the polite silence of those outside of an inside joke.

"What're we gonna do now?" asked Imoen, accepting the chewed-upon piece of jerky from Willow and also tasting it.

"We will walk and talk," commanded Jaheira.

Rising from their bench, the small group meandered northward. "Perhaps we c-could pay a visit to Thalantyr," suggested Khalid.

"Who's he?" asked Imoen.

They were interrupted in their conversation as a young man walked up to them, exclaiming, "Hold up there a moment! I have a pretty proposal for you!"

Willow turned around to see a face that, while handsome, was dominated at the moment by a set of very white, very even teeth, the likes of which one could only get through extensive vanity magic, she was sure. They were formed into a grin that could be somewhat delicately described as "feces-ingesting," if one didn't want to be coarse. He turned this grin on Jaheira, who returned it with a carefully calculated blank stare.

The smile flickered a bit, and he cleared his throat, becoming business-like. "Yes, well, as I was saying, a proposal!" He looked around at the group, settled on Willow, and looked at her expectantly.

"Well, thank you very much, but we hardly know each other, my dear," Willow said, keeping a straight face. Not one to let a headache stop her from enjoying a joke, Imoen sniggered behind her.

The young man blinked, then affected a smile. "Ah, haha! Yes, very clever. Anyway, you chaps look like the type of people who could be of help to me. Or rather, to my employer. You see, I work for the famous Silke, actress, musician, and all-around goddess of the stage." He sighed briefly. "Unfortunately, such fame has earned her a few enemies… but perhaps I'd better let her explain that bit. Would you and your party be willing to hire yourselves out as bodyguards? Just for a short time, and she pays extremely well," he assured quickly. He looked around at them again.

Willow was about to protest, thinking the mercenary image too crude for her ambitions of herodom, but Jaheira interrupted. "Just how 'well' does this Silke pay?" She gave the boy (for he couldn't have been much older than Imoen or Willow) a shrewd look.

"Uh… two hundred gold?"

"Make it three hundred and you have yourselves some bodyguards," Jaheira replied.

He was beginning to look like a cornered animal. "I… I'd have to ask Silke about that. Just come and talk to her? She'll answer any of your questions."

Jaheira nodded and gestured for him to lead the way. Willow looked at her. "We are short on gold, and sometimes one must lower oneself a certain amount to pay for one's supper. There are worse ways to earn a bit of money," Jaheira said, answering the unspoken question in low tones so that the earnest young man wouldn't hear.

He lead them up the street a short way, stopping on the green in front of a tavern called the Red Sheaf, where a white-haired woman was sitting on a bench in the sun.

"I'm Garrick, by the way," he whispered to Imoen as she passed, and Imoen answered with a good-natured chuckle, tinged (as only Willow could tell) with a bit of embarrassment. Willow felt a strange pang of jealousy as she saw the look Garrick was giving her friend. She turned around to walk up to Silke with Jaheira and Khalid.

Silke was a strange mix of young and old. Her silvery hair was flying loose as though she were a young girl, but wrinkles lined her face and her eyes were tired. Expensive clothes hung off a thin frame and she obviously relied far more than she wanted to admit on the silver-plated quarterstaff leaning on the bench beside her. Too much makeup, seemingly in the most flamboyant colors she could find, completed the somewhat sad picture.

"Greetings mercenaries," she said as they approached, in high, girlish tones that Willow privately thought must drive dogs insane. "I am Silke, thespian extraordinaire!"

"So we have heard," Jaheira answered. "Your boy Garrick has sung your praises to us." Garrick waved from where he was standing back with Imoen.

"He's a good little helper," replied Silke, not without affection. "He told you what I am willing to pay? You look capable enough, perhaps I will even throw in a bonus. But we shall discuss that when the job is done."

"D-done? G-Garrick only mentioned acting as b-bodyguards," said Khalid.

"Yes, well, that's the general idea," said Silke, waving a hand impatiently. "But I shan't need you to make a long-term commitment. You see, I have made an enemy of Feldepost." She paused and waited, apparently hoping for a more dramatic reaction than she got. Willow looked from Khalid to Jaheira, wondering if they knew anything about why this was supposed to evoke fear and awe, but they both just stared down at Silke, who sighed. "I do not imagine you know how dreadful he is, he's good at hiding it from the public," she continued. "I refused to play at his inn one night, and he didn't take it well at all. He's hired _killers_ to come and murder me!" she gasped, raising a wrinkled hand to her mouth in dramatic fashion, and Willow found herself disliking this woman more and more.

Jaheira must have felt the same, for she couldn't keep the impatience out of her voice when she replied, "And so you have hired us to protect you when they come to murder you, is this the case?"

"Yes, my impatient friend, yes. I have my sources, and they say—they say—oh, dear, here they come!"

Everyone wheeled around to see three men in bright garb approaching. Willow had only a moment to wonder why assassins would wear such silly clothing, and approach in daylight, to kill their targets, when Silke shrieked, "Quickly! Strike now, before they get a chance to harm my beloved personage!"

The lead man looked bewildered. "But Silke, what—we're here with the gems you—"

"Silence! I'll not have your lies spread about to the people here!" Everyone on the street was staring. She almost looked like she enjoyed the audience.

"But—" the man began again, but Silke turned on Jaheira, who was looking increasingly angry, and said, "You fool! Kill them! Kill them now!"

"These men are obviously not aware of what is going on. Why should I kill innocent people simply because a washed-up old hag of a bard tells me to?" replied Jaheira, scowling.

Thunderous rage filled Silke's features, and her hands flew up in the air. She began shrieking a spell. Willow, not wanting a repeat of the Tarnesh incident, leapt without thinking and crashed into Silke, who yelled and tumbled backwards over the bench. There was a sickening cracking noise, and Silke didn't move again.

Willow scrambled backwards on the ground and stared in horror at the wrinkled, still face as Jaheira quickly bent down to examine her. "Her spine snapped," the druid reported.

Garrick ran forward and groaned. "Oh, no..."

"I didn't… I mean, I didn't mean to kill her…" Willow tried to explain. "Just… stop her."

Jaheira rose from her crouch beside the body. "Age weakened her bones," she said, not unkindly. "You could not have predicted that a simple fall would kill her." She held out a hand to help Willow up, and she took it.

"N-no matter what killed her, it was in s-self defense," Khalid remarked, mostly to the patrolling guard who was approaching. The guard looked mollified, but turned to a villager who had witnessed it and began asking questions. Khalid bent down to examine the body. "If not from a spell, then from th-this," he said, holding up a razor-sharp, wickedly barbed dagger.

Garrick's eyes were wide with shock. "I—I swear I didn't know she'd do this, she only told me to go out and hire mercenaries to protect her!" Imoen leaned over to pick up the quarterstaff, examining it, clearly trying to keep her mind off the strange contortion of the broken body next to her.

Jaheira turned to the three men, who looked as if they were about to bolt as the guard made the rounds through witnesses. "You there! What were your dealings with this Silke? Speak quickly!"

The lead man spoke once again, looking alarmed. "She hired us to steal—" he stopped at the disapproving look on Khalid's face and tried again. "Er, she paid us a commission to acquire these gems for her." He held out a pouch, which Jaheira snatched and opened. Several large gems fell into her palm. The lead man frowned but said, "Guess she didn't want to pay up."

"We will keep these for our inconvenience," Jaheira replied, stuffing the gems back in the pouch. She scowled at the man as he started to protest. "We have, after all, just saved your lives."

Disgusted, the three men walked off with muttered thanks. Garrick looked around, looking lost.

"I don't know what to do now…" he said.

Jaheira sighed and said, "You may travel with us for now, if you wish." Imoen looked up at her, a delighted expression on her face for a split second before she managed to hide it.

Garrick smiled hesitantly at Jaheira, who rolled her eyes and bent down to straighten Silke's body as the guard came forward to collect it. He turned to Khalid. "Thank you, very much. I'll help you any way I can." Khalid, ever willing to give everyone a chance, smiled an only slightly tight-lipped smile at him. There was a grating edge to Garrick's apparent innocence.

Willow attempted to gather her thoughts and wrench her gaze from the too-made-up face of the old bard. "Welcome to the group," she said in hollow tones. Garrick turned a worried look on her, but she turned around and started walking, leaving Jaheira and Khalid to explain things to the gathering authorities.

* * *

Imoen was excited.

Recognizing a kindred spirit, Garrick had immediately chosen Imoen as his favorite comrade. Imoen, despite a passionate streak a mile wide, had never had much experience with men her age, Candlekeep being so closed off. Delighted as she was to have all this attention, she was determined to get something else from the friendship. She broached the subject soon after they had started back on the road.

"So did Silke teach you any magic?" she asked the young man as they set off in a westward direction. "I hear a lotta bards know at least a few spells, y'know, for show."

"She taught me a little," replied Garrick. "She didn't know much herself, only enough to protect herself on the road… come to think of it, I don't know why I didn't ask her about that when she told me to hire bodyguards… maybe I could've saved everyone a lot of pain," he added thoughtfully.

Imoen made an effort to wave her hand in the air nonchalantly. "We're getting used to people trying to kill us. Anyway, what did she teach you?"

"Well, a few basic cantrips, you know, for light and to blind an attacker… Magic Missile, of course, simple things like that. Why?"

Imoen grinned and explained. Garrick listened, then smiled. "Of course, I can try to teach you. I'll surely have more patience than Silke did…"

A few moments later, Imoen trotted ahead in the procession to catch up with Jaheira. "Jaheira! Can we go to High Hedge? Please oh please oh please?"

"Silly girl, where do you think we have been heading?" The druid pointed ahead and above to a tower sticking above the treetops.

"Oh," replied Imoen. She giggled. "I guess I better start paying more attention..."

* * *

They continued walking. Willow was talking quietly with Khalid in the rear.

"I didn't mean to kill her," she repeated. "But it was so easy…"

Khalid looked ahead to hide his worried expression. "S-sometimes we do things without thinking," he said after a moment. "Y-your actions truly were in s-self-defense, Willow, you mustn't think otherwise. S-Silke was simply old and brittle… it could not have been helped."

"But I couldn't help but hate her, she was so dramatic... maybe I really meant to kill her," insisted Willow.

"Everyone has secret desires, but I tr-truly doubt this was the case."

Willow took a deep breath as Khalid gripped her shoulder bracingly. "I'll try not to think about it too much," she said.

"That is probably for the best," Khalid replied.

Willow looked ahead to see Imoen and Garrick giggling softly to themselves and frowned slightly. It wasn't as if she wanted Garrick for herself; on the contrary, his act of lightness and joy grated on Willow's nerves like a chef's knife on full platemail. But she also had never had much experience with anyone of the male persuasion, besides Gorion and the other Keepers, and now Khalid. She wondered if she perhaps should strike up a conversation with Garrick.

Suddenly Jaheira stopped as a cloaked figure stepped onto the path in front of them, and all thought of Garrick fled from Willow's mind.

* * *

Now here was something more worth staring at than Garrick.

The cloaked figure turned out to a cloaked elf, holding a bow as tall as he was. He was quite handsome, even by elf terms. He surveyed the party with dark eyes that looked like they hadn't seen anything pleasant for quite a while.

"Where are you headed?" he said by way of greeting.

"We're goin' to Thalantyr to get me some magic supplies!" chirped Imoen after a second.

"You don't seem of ill intent, but please inform me as to why we should tell you?" said Jaheira a split second too late, so that she and Imoen spoke over each other.

The elf looked over the party once again. Garrick shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, while Khalid's back straightened almost imperceptibly. Willow blushed and looked away when his eyes met hers.

"I am looking for a party of adventurers," he said. He had a deep voice, tinged with a note of sorrow.

"Not more assassins!" Willow exclaimed, looking back at him. But he didn't seem like an assassin. He seemed more like a lost puppy. One that could kill you in a second, admittedly.

"No, no," he rejoined, waving his hand dismissively. Willow noticed he had extremely long fingers. The hand was wrapped in a bit of black cloth that left only the fingers and thumb free. "I wish to join a group of adventurers. I seek vengeance, but there is safety in numbers. And I must have help if I am to succeed." Willow got the impression that that was the longest speech he'd made in some time.

"We're always willing to help people!" said Imoen.

Jaheira looked at the elf with narrowed eyes for a long moment before nodding imperceptibly. He moved to stand in line with them, nodding to Willow as he stood next to her.

"I am Jaheira and this is Khalid, my husband," said Jaheira. "Those two hooligans-in-the-making," she said, pointing at a now-chuckling Imoen and Garrick, "Are Imoen and Garrick, respectively. And this is Willow."

Willow made a small wave as she tried to look taller and more like her namesake. It didn't work.

"I am Kivan," he rasped.

"We are headed first to see Thalantyr and then to the Nashkel Mines, Kivan," said Jaheira. "Do you still wish to travel with us?"

"The mines are as good a place as any to find where I must go," Kivan replied shortly, and with that they all headed off towards the tower.

Khalid joined Jaheira at the front. "I was under the impression you were having a conversation with Willow," she said to him.

Khalid looked back. Willow was trying to avoid tripping over her own feet as she stared at Kivan, who seemed oblivious.

"I th-think she's busy enough a-already," he said, smiling. Jaheira smiled back, without truly knowing why; but that was the effect Khalid had on her.


	5. Assignments and Assistance

Willow spent much of the rest of the walk staring at Kivan. He was unusually alert; everything seemed to interest him, whether it was the crack of a twig or the sight of a bird wheeling in the air above them. As a breeze passed by in the trees, he closed his eyes for a moment and seemed to simply listen.

Unwillingly to break his concentration, Willow waited until he had opened his eyes again before saying, "Did the trees have something to say?"

Kivan glanced at her before going back to his observation of the surroundings. He didn't speak for so long that Willow thought he might not answer at all. "Nature has her ways of communicating. I simply have a higher connection than most."

"So they really did have something to say?" pursued Willow.

The elf nodded. "They said: 'It will come soon.'"

"What will?" She tripped over a rock as she stared at him instead of where she was going, but recovered quickly.

"Never you mind. Simply know that whatever Nature has to say, it is a ranger's duty to listen."

Taking the hint, Willow nodded and kept quiet. But after that, she tried to listen to the leaves as they rustled.

* * *

Edwin had had enough. He flipped to the back pages of his journal, enchanted to provide an easy way to communicate with his superiors, and wrote, _MUST I continue with this FARCE_?

He waited for a reply. It did not come until midday. It read simply, _Yes_.

Severe annoyance took him and he threw the book at a convenient wall. After a few moments he rose from his seat and retrieved it. Taking up a pen he wrote, _Why_? in handwriting as angry as he could make it.

It must have transferred at least a little, because the next answer was more forthcoming. _Because, believe it or not, Edwin, we have bigger plans for you yet. You are aware of the prophecies of Alaundo, are you not_?

Without waiting for another answer, the writing continued with another paragraph. _You see, Edwin, there are the children of GODS running about Faerûn, and we intend to find some. There have been reports from the Sword Coast, messages infiltrated from both the Iron Throne and the Zhentarim. At least one Bhaalspawn in a position of power, killing off others. And one that may, in fact, be headed towards you. I would suggest keeping your eyes and ears open for someone with a bounty on their head, or who exudes a particularly volatile aura. If you can handle that, Edwin, I shall be exceptionally astonished_.

Edwin waited a moment to see if there was more, and then made a rude gesture at the book. Nothing happened.

_Wonderful_, he thought. _Now I must kill a wychalarn_ and _find a god-child._

* * *

Thalantyr's residence at High Hedge was a huge tower, filled with Flesh Golems as the security. They stared blankly at the group as they perused the wizard's wares.

It was a strange collection of items; robes; vast amounts of spellbooks, history books, novels, and dictionaries; barrels full of unidentifiable substances; bottles, flasks, cups, and even tankards; scrolls, pens, inkwells, and even more.

"Would you be willing to buy these, Thalantyr?"

The archmage looked up again from the book he was studying as Jaheira held out the pouch of gems. He took them in a no-nonsense sort of way and dumped them onto his desk. After a moment he said, "Well, I'm doing a study on the magical properties of gems… I suppose this would be a good start."

As the two haggled, Willow joined Imoen as she stared at all the spell components in their barrels and boxes. Garrick was looking from a ratty spellbook to the barrels with a vaguely panicked air.

"Ummm… let's see… a few batwings, maybe…" he was saying.

"Yergh," Imoen remarked as she looked at said batwings. "Do I have to touch them?"

"You're the one that wants to be a mage, Im," said Willow with a grin. "You're gonna have to touch them to cast spells, aren't you?"

Imoen heaved a deep sigh, then reached out and took a batwing between thumb and forefinger. "Eew, it's all rubbery…"

Kivan was standing as close to the door as he could get without leaving the room. Willow left Imoen and Garrick to their gathering and walked slowly over to him, trying not to look too eager to talk to him. She made a point to look into each barrel she passed, until she made it to him.

She stood and rocked on the balls of her feet for a full minute as she waited for him to say something. Finally she remarked, "I'm not much good at this magic stuff."

"Nor I," he replied.

She waited again. "I'd much rather swing a sword. Or two, in my case. It's less complicated."

"Indeed it is," Kivan replied.

"Although I s'pose I wouldn't mind learning other things… tracking and such, maybe."

"I myself learned from my father."

"Yep." Willow could tell this conversation wasn't going to go anywhere meaningful just yet.

An ecstatic squeal from Imoen drew Willow over to a rack of clothing, leaving Kivan to his silence. Imoen was pawing a silvery robe hanging from the end of a bar.

"Ooh, Wil, isn't it pretty?" she gushed as Willow approached. Garrick was looking amused behind her.

"Very," Willow replied as she eyed the careful embroidery on the sleeves and hem. "What's it made of, I wonder?"

"I dunno, but it's gorgeous!"

"It's also very expensive, so if you wouldn't mind taking your grubby little mitts off it I won't have to burn it," called Thalantyr from his desk, glaring at Imoen. Imoen stopped playing with the sleeves but waited until the archmage wasn't looking and stuck her tongue out at him. Willow smiled.

"Wow, it is expensive," said Imoen as she looked at the bit of parchment on a string hanging from one sleeve. "Wish we had that kinda money…"

Willow examined the tag herself and whistled. "Maybe someday, Im…"

Imoen heaved another great sigh and made a visible effort to turn away from the robe. Jaheira and Khalid's haggling was quickly finished up and they were soon on the road again, heading south once more.

* * *

That night Willow and Imoen spent their first night outdoors. The weather was still warm and the sky was clear as they set up camp underneath a few trees. The breeze that had been persisting throughout the day continued as they arranged sleeping mats.

"We can sleep under the stars!" Imoen squinted upward and pointed. "Looks, there's that constellation that's supposed to look like a lady with a jug. What's it called?"

"Lady With a Jug?" replied Willow, and they both giggled.

"I'll take first watch," said Kivan, letting his pack slide from his shoulders and drop to the ground with a thump.

Willow watched the elf's quick fingers string his bow with practiced ease as Jaheira said, "Wake me when your shift ends." She unfurled her bedroll and laid it next to Khalid's.

Kivan nodded and walked a few paces away to sit on a tree stump. They had eaten on the road and everyone was tired, especially Willow and Imoen who were not yet used to traveling such long distances. The two girls set up their bedrolls next to each other's so they could talk without disturbing anyone else.

Several thousand giggles and jokes later, they both nodded off. Willow awoke a few hours later to hear a somewhat irate Jaheira berating Kivan.

"You should have woken me up. You need your own rest," she was saying quietly.

"I don't need much sleep. Especially not lately," Kivan replied.

"Even still, you might have fallen asleep at your post and then where would we be? Go rest." Through blurry vision Willow saw Jaheira sit on the tree stump. Kivan went to his bedroll, a short distance from the fire and everyone else.

A short while later, just before she fell asleep again, Willow heard Kivan whispering what sounded like a prayer. Much of it escaped her ears, but she heard the name "Sheverash."

* * *

Willow dreamed strange dreams that night. First she dreamed of a tall, hooded figure in robes that were the color of blood, pointing at a forest. The figure shouted something in a nasal voice and fire burst from the finger to light the forest ablaze. Willow ran up to whoever it was and wrenched the hood down to reveal Imoen's face. Imoen beamed merrily at her and disappeared in a puff of smoke.

Next she dreamed of a dark-skinned woman sitting in a pit surrounded by bones and rotting flesh. The woman was coughing so violently that blood was beginning to speck her lips. Suddenly, the bones nearby rose into the air to form a huge skeleton, which covered itself with the body of a warrior with a purple tattoo on his head, who knelt next to the woman with a sorrowful look on his face. Then they both crumbled into dust.

Finally, she dreamed of a corpse draped in gauzy white cloth and with the face of an elf-maiden. Cuts and bruises covered the face, and when Willow reached out and pulled the cloth back a little it revealed a slit throat. A noise beside her made Willow turn to see Kivan weeping with abandon over the corpse, unaware of Willow's presence. The girl looked up to see that another Kivan was standing behind the kneeling one. Before she could cry out a warning, this new copy of the elf plunged a curved and barbed dagger into his clone's back and disappeared.

Willow looked down to see that Kivan was already dead. Blood was spreading onto the cloth, turning it from white to red and finally to a rusty black. Then she woke up.

* * *

The morning sun was shining through the trees when Willow opened her eyes. Imoen was shaking her.

"You alright?" her friend asked when she saw that Willow had awoken. "You were kinda muttering in yer sleep."

Willow blinked and said, "I think I'm okay."

"Good," Imoen replied, though she still looked a little worried. "We've got a long day ahead of us. Gotta cover a lot of ground, Jaheira says! Oh, joy…" she added in a mutter.

Willow smiled, then looked over at Kivan, who was silently gathering his bedroll and pack. She recalled the look of death on the elf's face and the way the white cloth had so easily soaked up his blood. "I hope I'm okay, anyway," she said to herself.

* * *

By this time, Minsc was up and about. When not helping his savior Marise carry water or wood, he was trying to convince her to let him out of her care.

"Little grandmother, Minsc appreciates the nursing, and so does little Boo, of course—"

"Who is this Boo you keep yammering on about?" Marise demanded, staring at Minsc through narrowed eyes, one hand holding a heavy bucket of water and the other balanced on her hip in illustration of her skepticism.

Minsc held out a hand. Marise cautiously held out her own, and a hamster was dropped into it.

"This is Boo!" said Minsc, beaming. "My friend and companion ever since my h-h-head wound."

Marise examined the creature. It blinked up at her and wiggled its nose. Eventually she said, "It's just a hamster."

Minsc's eyes widened and he shook his head violently. "No, no, no! Boo is no simple hamster! Boo is a Giant Miniature Space Hamster!"

Marise's eyebrows rose almost to her hairline, but she said, "I see," with only the slightest hint of disbelief.

"Boo says that you really should let he and Minsc go, because his witch Dynaheir may even now be getting the Whip of Evil slashed across her back! And Dynaheir has such soft skin, that would surely be deadly!"

Marise was getting a headache. She was also remembering exactly why she'd become a hermit in the first place.

"Fine, fine, but only after one more day of rest. I won't have wasted my time healing you up only to hear that you passed out and fell off a cliff." She turned back to her cooking, and that was that.

* * *

The next morning, Minsc swept the old woman up into a bear hug before she could stop him, set her down, said, "Minsc and Boo thank you, little grandmother. Have a nice life!" and marched off.

Marise waited until she knew he wouldn't see before she waved after him.

* * *

At mid-morning, as the others sat in the shade of a lone tree on a plain, Kivan stood looking into the distance.

"Did you lose someone?"

The elf whirled around see Willow approaching, looking politely curious at him.

"What?" he asked, in harsher tones than he'd intended.

"I said, did you lose something?" the girl asked, holding out her hand to reveal a small book in it. Kivan blinked and stared at it, then reached out to take it. Willow dropped it into his hand without touching him.

"… thank you," he said. She nodded at him and smiled, looked as if she was about to say something else. But then she shook her head and walked back to the rest of the group.

Kivan's brows knit as he stared at her back, but turned around again.

* * *

They reached Nashkel in the late afternoon, dusty and tired from the road. A large contingent of soldiers marched across the bridge into town ahead of them, and one stopped to question them. Jaheira, in the lead as usual, had a short exchange with him and he moved on, satisfied.

They stopped in the middle of town. "What now?" Imoen asked.

"Perhaps we should spend a bit of time talking to the locals; it will help us if we know the rumors," replied Jaheira, surveying the town with a practiced eye.

"But if they're just rumors they can't help us, can they?" asked Imoen.

"Where there's s-smoke there's fire," chimed in Khalid. "You three talk to the l-locals and see what you can learn, and J-Jaheira, Kivan and I will go see M-Mayor Ghastkill. We'll meet you at the inn."

The three adults walked off, leaving the younger of the group to look at each other in hopes that the other knew what to do. Imoen giggled.

"Let's split up and just wander," she suggested. The other two thought this was a good idea and each wandered off in a different direction.

Willow, who was good at blending into crowds, eavesdropped on different conversations. Mostly the talk seemed to be of the fair that was outside of town, but some of it was relevant to the mines. Mostly she heard of strange yapping noises reported by the miners and shards of green glass found in the wheelbarrows full of ore.

She slowly made her way towards another bridge, past a small tavern. There was a dot of red standing on the bridge, reminding her of her strange dreams the other night.

As she got closer, she saw that the dot was a tall figure in a red robe. Underneath, the frame supporting the robe would probably be best described as "lanky." It was leaning against the side of the bridge, seemingly staring moodily into the river.

Whistling, she sauntered onto the bridge to lean against the edge in much the same way, taking care to stay a few feet from the man who was now sighing heavily.

She cast a surreptitious look to her side and saw that he had short brown hair and a prominent nose that was usually called "hawkish" if you were feeling nice. Willow imagined that if people weren't feeling nice, they'd make jokes like, "Oh, gosh, it's raining! Hey, mind if I stand under your nose, it's sure to keep me dry!"

Then again, he looked like the type to eradicate anyone who made such a joke, so perhaps it didn't happen often to him.

She'd looked a little too long, though, and the man turned his head to glare at her. For a moment he looked surprised rather than angry, but that changed soon enough into a scowl.

"Have you nothing else to do but stare at me?" he asked in a nasal voice that sounded familiar. "I know my handsome features must enthrall you but I am in no mood today," he added.

"Whatsa matter, brain too big for everyone around here to like you?" Willow asked, delighted. This man reminded her of a boy she'd known for a short time in Candlekeep, who had been her and Imoen's favorite target for jokes and pranks. He had been so self-involved and pompous that the jokes had seemed twice as good.

"A feeling you no doubt have no experience with," he replied, and turned back to the water. He sighed again.

Willow looked down at their reflection in the slow-moving river, waiting.

"Well, are you not going to leave?" he asked, irate, just in time. "(If I am forced to socialize yet more I shall explode.)" he added in a mutter, apparently unaware that she could hear him.

"Nah, I like it here," she replied.

He rolled his eyes and stood up straight. "Then I suppose it is I who shall have to move. I hope you enjoy your stolen spot, little thief-monkey." He marched off, back straight, and Willow grinned and headed off towards the inn.

It started to rain heavily just as she reached the inn (thunder had been threatening in the last hour or so), and she was glad to find refuge inside. A fire had already been started in the fireplace and patrons were steadily trickling in and heading for the bar. None of the others were back yet, but she was glad to see that the red-clad mage was sitting at a table in the corner. She went to the bar to order an ale, then made her way over to him.

He looked up from the book he had been reading intently as she sat down next to him. To call the expression he leveled at her a glare would be an understatement, but she simply smiled at him and said, "All the other tables are full and my friends aren't back yet." This wasn't a lie; there weren't many tables and she seemed to be the only one willing to approach him to sit with him.

"Do not bother me and I will not bother you," he replied, and went back to his book. Willow smirked into her mug and commenced waiting for the rest of the party.

Before anyone she knew turned up, a short woman with dark hair and skin approached Willow from across the room. She was wearing chainmail and had a large mace at her side. She also had a permanently predatory look.

"It's my lucky day, isn't it?" she said as she got closer. "I expected a hunt and a chase from the notice, but here you come strolling into a tavern, bold as brass!" She gave a toothy, alarming smile as she drew up in front of Willow, who studied her mug rather than look up. "Not even any companions!"

"No, no companions," replied Willow, lifting her head and eyeing the woman. "I suppose you're here to kill me, then?"

The mage next to her had gone very still and seemed to be listening rather hard. Willow could almost feel the concentration radiating off him.

"Right to the point, eh?" said the woman. "I like that. I like businesslike targets. Less messy." She did, indeed, look pleased.

"Might I know the name of the one who's going to try and kill me?" asked Willow, trying to affect a jaunty tone. Surprisingly, it was easier than she'd thought it would be.

The woman drew her mace and the room went quiet. People have a way of getting out while the getting is good; this was no different, and everyone started edging towards the door. The innkeeper looked like he wanted to say something but was too afraid.

"Not like it matters, but my name is Neira. You can tell it to whoever welcomes you in the Abyss." She paused, then said, "That was a good one. I should put that in my memoirs." Then she swung the mace, connecting with the wall when Willow ducked out of the way.

Neira began casting a spell. Before Willow could get to her, the spell was completed and she glowed briefly. With a triumphant laugh she leapt forward, swinging her mace wildly.

In the close quarters Willow's only advantage was that she wasn't wearing heavy armor or a shield as Neira was. All she could do was sidestep the blows and wait for an opening. Neira gradually gained nicks and scratches from Willow's swords, but Willow had less endurance and was becoming tired. The other woman could see this and started pressing her harder.

Gradually Willow became aware of a voice reciting a spell quietly and spared a glance over at the red mage, who shook his head violently as he spoke under his breath. She turned her attention back to Neira just as the other woman was lifting her shield arm in order to deliver a heavy blow.

Acting quickly, Willow hooked one sword behind Neira's shield to pull her forward, while the other sword plunged upward into the woman's ribs. Neira shrieked in pain, then screamed again as a flurry of brilliant, spherical missiles hit her in the back. Willow pushed and she fell backwards, smelling of scorched metal and flesh.

Panting, Willow looked around to see that everyone was gone but the innkeeper, who was staring with wide eyes at her, and the mage, who was staring with distaste at the hem of his robe, muttering, "Lovely. Simian blood on my robes…"

Willow started to head over to him to thank him, when something hit her knee. Hard. Very hard. Her kneecap shattered, and as she shrieked and fell to the floor, she saw Neira sitting up, glaring at her.

"I hope you never walk on that leg again," Neira hissed at her, and died.

* * *

Several days after Minsc left for Nashkel, Marise Dawn was eating her breakfast when she heard a squeaking at her window. She turned around to see a small, fuzzy creature. Upon further inspection, it turned out to be a hamster. It wasn't Boo, although it looked vaguely similar. It also had a broken leg.

"I can't be havin' with that," Marise muttered, and set about fixing it.

The next day the hamster sat on the table as she ate, chirruping happily at her. She had to admit, it was a cute little creature. And as the days went by, it refused to leave.

One day she said to it, "Well, what shall we call you? Moo? Goo? Or perhaps we'll be original and call you Wellington…"


	6. Healing and Histories

As Willow sat clutching weakly at her knee, trying to breathe normally and blinking away the tears of pain, the mage approached and stood towering over her. Imoen and Garrick also chose this moment to walk in, looking worried.

"Wil!" Imoen shouted, running over to her. "Gah! Your knee…" Blood was rapidly soaking Willow's pant-leg and she didn't even want to think what it must look like underneath the cloth. Imoen glared up at the mage. "Did you do this?"

He replied with a haughty scoff, then added, "Edwin Odesseiron does not go around smashing women's kneecaps. Did you not notice the body right next to you?" He pointed.

Imoen looked. "Oh. Ergh. Garrick, you'd better go find Jaheira."

"That won't be necessary, I am already here," said Jaheira as she knelt next to Willow. Willow hissed as the druid started drawing her pant-leg up to examine the wound.

"A-another assassin?" asked Khalid, kneeling down to search Neira's body.

"So it would seem," remarked Edwin, causing everyone to look at him. He was holding a parchment that looked almost exactly like the one in Tarnesh's possession. "You must be important, indeed…" he added thoughtfully, as Kivan walked up to him and snatched the letter out of his hands.

"I believe that belongs to Willow," Kivan said as Edwin glared daggers at him. The elf handed the letter to Willow, who gave it only a cursory glance and then whimpered slightly as Jaheira felt her joint.

"I should be able to take care of this but it will involve careful repositioning of the bits of bone… in other words, a lot of pain," Jaheira said finally. "We'll need some rooms and you'll need to rest at least for the night," she added. Khalid immediately moved off to rent some rooms from the still-stunned innkeeper.

Imoen looked at the parchment. "'Nother bounty notice... hey, looks like your price went up! 'Those returning with proof of the deed shall receive no less than six hundred and eighty pieces of gold'!"

"Oh, goody," replied Willow, glaring, before erupting in a scream as Jaheira, Khalid, and Kivan all lifted her to take her off to a bed.

* * *

Hours later, Imoen came bounding into the room, stopped, teetered on her toes, and managed not to topple right onto Willow's healing leg, for which Willow was exceedingly grateful.

"How ya feelin'?" Imoen asked as she sat carefully down on the edge of the bed.

"Like I just had a kneecap put back together," Willow replied dryly, prompting Imoen to roll her eyes good-naturedly at her. "Better, I suppose. Starving, though."

"I'll go getcha some dinner." Imoen slapped Willow's leg, then put both hands to her mouth as Willow yelped. "Oops! Sorry…"

Looking sheepish, she ran off, closing the door behind her. Willow wiggled around to get better situated with the ridiculous amount of pillows Jaheira had insisted she have under her, wincing occasionally as her leg twinged. Finally she was comfortable. A knock sounded at the door. She sighed.

"If you're here to kill me, please come back tomorrow. If you're here with food, be careful because I may eat you along with it, I'm so hungry."

The mage from earlier-- Edwin, she supposed-- walked in. He was carrying a tray of food, which he set down beside Willow. He then pulled a chair over to the bedside and sat down, crossing one leg over the other. Willow stared at him.

"I wrested the tray from the chirpy girl with the pink fixation," he supplied. "I would like to make a proposal."

"You and Garrick…" muttered Willow as she picked up a chicken leg and began to gnaw on it.

Edwin frowned as he watched her pull at the meat, but said, "I would like to join your group."

Willow choked on a piece of chicken. After a moment of coughing, Edwin sighed and leaned over to pound her on the back, somewhat harder than necessary, Willow thought. When she was finally done spluttering, she managed to say, "Wait, this isn't how this is supposed to work."

"What are you talking about?" he asked. Willow thought he asked a bit too quickly for her peace of mind, but strangely enough, she liked him, so she put it out of her mind.

"I mean, I'm supposed to tease you, you help me out in a bar fight, I thank you, and we each go our separate ways. That's how teasing works!"

Edwin gave her a look that said clearly, "It must be scary inside your mind."

Willow sighed. "Well, okay, we could use a mage. And you did help me out with Neira. Thanks, by the way." She went back to the chicken bone.

Edwin stood. "You are welcome, I suppose. Although if I were you, I would get used to Edwin Odesseiron saving your life. It is a common occurrence." He adjusted his robes magisterially, and Willow hid a grin behind her napkin. "We shall discuss the terms of my employment tomorrow when you are no longer bedridden. Or trying to force as much food down your throat as you can at one time." He stalked out.

Willow shook her head bemusedly and continued stuffing her face.

* * *

Back in his own room, Edwin made a note in his journal: _Found group of idiots to help kill witch. Girl-child leader looked familiar. Am clearly going insane._

* * *

The fight had left Willow's thoughts racing, despite the mind-numbing pain. With nothing to do and no way to sleep terribly comfortably, Willow was bored. So she did what she always did when she was bored. She read.

Unfortunately, the only book she had handy was _The History of the Bell in the Depths_. It was a short, but dark read, but she had to admit, it struck a certain chord...

But finally, exhausted, her body forced her to sleep, and she drifted off with the book balanced on her chest.  


* * *

_In ages past there was but one god of Strife, Death, and the Dead, and He was known as Jergal, Lord of the End of Everything. Jergal fomented and fed on the discord among mortals and powers alike. When beings slew each other in their quest for power or in their hatred, He welcomed them into His shadowy kingdom of eternal gloom. As all things died, everything came to Him eventually, and over time He built His power into a kingdom unchallenged by any other god. Eventually, however, He grew tired of His duties for He knew them too well. Without challenge there is nothing, and in nothingness there is only gloom. In such a state, the difference between absolute power and absolute powerlessness is undetectable. _

_During this dark era, there arose three powerful mortals-- Bane, Bhaal, and Myrkul-- who lusted after the power Jergal wielded. The trio forged an unholy pact, agreeing that they would dare to seek such ultimate power or die in the attempt. Over the length and breadth of the Realms they strode, seeking powerful magic and spells and defying death at every turn. No matter what monster they confronted or what spells they braved, the three mortals emerged unscathed at every turn. Eventually the trio destroyed one of the Seven Lost Gods, and they each seized a portion of His divine essence for themselves. _

_The trio then journeyed into the Gray Waste and sought out the Castle of Bone. Through armies of skeletons, legions of zombies, hordes of incorporeal undead, and a gauntlet of liches they battled. Eventually they reached the object of their lifelong quest - the Bone Throne. _

_"I claim this throne of evil," shouted Bane the Tyrant._

"_I'll destroy you before you can raise a finger," threatened Bhaal the Assassin._

"_And I shall imprison your essence for eternity," promised Myrkul the Necromancer._

_Jergal arose from His throne with a weary expression and said, "The Throne is yours. I have grown weary of this empty power. Take it if you wish-- I promise to serve and guide you as your seneschal until you grow comfortable with the position." Before the stunned trio could react, the Lord of the Dead continued, "Who among you shall rule?"_

_The trio immediately fell to fighting amongst themselves while Jergal looked on with indifference. When eventually it appeared that either they would all die of exhaustion or battle on for an eternity, the Lord of the End of Everything intervened. "After all you have sacrificed, would you come away with nothing? Why don't you divide the portfolios of the office and engage in a game of skill for them?" asked Jergal. _

_Bane, Bhaal, and Myrkul considered the god's offer and agreed. Jergal took the heads of His three most powerful liches and gave them to the trio that they would compete by bowling the skulls. Each mortal rolled a skull across the Gray Waste, having agreed that the winner would be he who bowled the farthest. _

_Malar the Beastlord arrived to visit Jergal at this moment. After quickly ascertaining that the winner of the contest would get all of Jergal's power, he chased off after the three skulls to make sure that the contest would be halted until he had a chance to participate for part of the prize. Bane, Bhaal, and Myrkul again fell to fighting as it was obvious their sport was ruined, and again Jergal intervened. "Why don't you allow Lady Luck to decide so you don't have to share with the Beast?"_

_The trio agreed, and Jergal broke off His skeletal finger bones and gave them to the players. When Malar returned from chasing the skulls, he found that the trio had just finished a game of knucklebones._

_Bane cried out triumphantly, "As winner, I choose to rule for all eternity as the ultimate Tyrant. I can induce Hatred and Strife at my whim, and all will bow down before me while in my kingdom."_

_Myrkul, who had won second place, declared, "But I choose the Dead, and by doing so I truly win, because all you are lord over, Bane, will eventually be mine. All things must die - even gods."_

_Bhaal, who finished third, demurred, "I choose Death, and it is by my hand that all that you rule, Lord Bane, will eventually pass to Lord Myrkul. Both of you must pay honor to me and obey my wishes, since I can destroy your kingdom, Bane, by murdering your subjects, and I can starve your kingdom, Myrkul, by staying my hand."_

_Malar growled in frustration, but could do nothing, and yet again only the Beasts were left for him. _

_And Jergal merely smiled, for he had been delivered._

* * *

The next morning dawned clear and bright as only a morning after a long storm can. Imoen had been awakened many times during the night by increasingly loud and long rolls of thunder, but finally the sky had quieted and she'd managed to get some rest. Willow, in the bed next to her, had seemed untroubled by the noise, but Imoen was beginning to suspect that Willow's sleep cycles were much different from her own. Imoen seemingly had fewer dreams, for instance.

The young thief awoke early despite her somewhat restless night. She brushed at her hair, wondered if she ought to grow it out, decided not to as usual, and wandered out to the common room, where she found Edwin sitting at a table sipping at a mug of tea. He was reading a book, as she imagined he did quite a lot.

Imoen walked over to the innkeeper, stepping over a large bloodstain they hadn't managed to scrub out of the wood, and ordered herself some breakfast. The innkeeper gave a frightened look, as though she was about to burst into a murderous rage, and quickly served her a meal that consisted of lumpy, lukewarm oatmeal and a glass of water that might have supported primitive life forms. Food in hand, she made her way over to Edwin's table, where he looked up, rolled his eyes, and looked back down again. They proceeded to mutually ignore one another.

* * *

Garrick came in when Imoen was halfway through her breakfast, waved at her and smiled as only a morning person can, and went to get his own food. Imoen, who was beginning to regret getting up so early, made a bleary attempt at conversation when he sat down next to her but couldn't really comprehend what he was saying and so gave up. She put her head in her folded arms and promptly fell asleep.

Garrick, who was hard to offend, took this cheerfully and moved on to try talking to Edwin. Perhaps a shared interest would get them going.

"Ah, Poe, I've read him before," he tried.

Edwin answered with a grunt.

Undeterred, Garrick replied, "He's a bit too morbid for me, but still one of the better writers of our time, eh?"

"I find his prose slow and plodding; all this talk of black cats and beating hearts tires me. But one must look for intellectual stimulation where one must. (Such as not here.)"

"Right, yes," replied Garrick, and fell silent.

Jaheira and Khalid emerged from their room soon afterwards. They joined the other three at their table, looking, if not energized, at least mostly rested. "I imagine Willow is still asleep," Jaheira said. "Healing requires more energy from the healed than the healer, at times."

"She should be up soon," said Kivan as he walked up to them. "I heard the rustling of bedclothes as I passed her room."

"Listening at keyholes, elf?" asked Edwin, shutting his book with a snap after using the attached ribbon to mark his place. "(It is no wonder, repressed as he seems. A bit young for him, however…)"

Kivan glared at the mage, who raised an eyebrow and looked calmly back. "I have exceptionally keen hearing," he said.

"Ah, but of course. (The pointiness of elven ears must be for something other than show, after all.)" he added to himself in a mutter.

Imoen groaned and shifted in her seat as Willow walked into the room, looking well rested and recovered.

"Heya," Willow said to the table at large as Jaheira made her balance on her good leg while she flexed the other one. Garrick was reminded of a mother adjusting her child's shoe.

Everyone gave her a greeting in varied levels of volume, from Imoen's muttered, "g'morning…" to Garrick's hearty "Good morning!"

Edwin pulled a parchment from somewhere in his robe and slid it across the table towards Willow, who picked it up and looked at it curiously. "These are the conditions of my employment with the group, including clauses on treasure division and scroll possession. You will see that I have made allowances for the fact that I am the only one in the party who can use spell scrolls properly."

"Hey, we could use them!" Imoen said in half-hearted outrage as she raised her head from the table. Garrick nodded, frowning at Edwin.

Edwin glanced at the two, then back to Willow and said, "As I say, I am the only one in the group who can use them _properly_."

Imoen scowled as Willow perused the parchment, wincing occasionally as Jaheira touched a sore spot on her knee. Finally, she said, "I don't need you to sign anything. You just travel with us." She shrugged and tossed the paper back to Edwin.

He gaped at her as the parchment floated down to land lopsidedly in front of him. "Surely you do not simply accept that I will be a member of the party without extensive paperwork and contracts?" he asked in horrified tones.

"Naw, we don't need any of that. Just do what you think is best and we'll do what we think is best, and hopefully no one will lop anyone else's head off." Jaheira finally let her put her other foot on the ground, and Willow wandered off to get some oatmeal of her own.

"(Such disorganization! This can only end in tears.)" Edwin continued muttering to himself as everyone else ate, and when everyone was finished they finally emerged into the sunlight outside the inn.

The road through the middle of town was one long mass of mud after the last night's rain. As they tromped down the road in the general direction of the mines, birds chirped merrily at them from rooftops and the sun glinted off the puddles. It was quite a lovely day, and Willow, for the first time since Beregost, was beginning to look forward to the next adventure.

Imoen and Garrick chirped nearly as much as the birds to one another, probably discussing their revenge on Edwin if he hogged all the spell scrolls. Imoen had clearly recovered from her nearly comatose state and was grinning so widely that Willow was nearly blinded by the sunlight glinting off her teeth when Imoen turned her way.

Edwin, who had been lingering behind the rest of them, sped up to walk beside Willow, who looked at him with a strangely unsurprised expression. Ignoring this, he got quickly to his point.

"I would speak to you of my own goals," he said.

"Why, Eddie—mind if I call you Eddie?" she began. Waving away his protest, she continued, "I imagine you're a man of many goals and ideals, but I can see you have one in particular you'd like to discuss. What would that one be?"

Sighing in resignation, Edwin replied, "I have been sent by my superiors in Thay on a particular errand, one far beneath my capabilities but supposedly important nonetheless. An assassination, of sorts."

"I see. I don't take kindly to assassins, as you may have guessed," said Willow.

"Merely a title," said Edwin quickly. "I have been told she is, er, dangerous to anyone she comes in contact with. A psychotic murderer, in fact. (Lies do not become me, but I am ever so good at making them.)"

"Riiiight. And where is this psychotic murderer?"

"The last I have been able to determine, she was traveling with a bodyguard—er, accomplice, in the mountains to the south and west of here. I would use you and your party's collective force (pathetic as it may be) to track her down and… put her out of her misery."

Willow gave a lopsided grin and reached up to pat him on the back. "Sure, sure, Eddie. But when the time comes, we'll just have to see who's putting whom out of their misery. We'll do your little errand after we take care of these mines." That said, she literally skipped off.

* * *

The Nashkel countryside was particularly lovely at this time of year; a light breeze had picked up, and the needles of the pine trees rustled in almost contented way as they walked the wagon path to the mine.

Edwin hated it.

Willow watched in amusement as he smacked and slapped at his skin as the biting insects descended on the party. "They must like mage blood," she said.

He merely glared at her. Finally he stopped and muttered something, pulling what looked like some sort of small crystal from his pack and rubbing it. Edwin sighed with relief as the bugs began bouncing off of his skin.

"The well-used application of a Mage Armor can work wonders," he said smugly at Willow's surprised look.

"Wow," said Imoen, looking impressed. She nudged Garrick in the side with an elbow. "When can I do that?"

Garrick laughed, a little nervously, Willow thought.

"In all probability, never," said Edwin unconcernedly.

Imoen ignored him as she waved away a mosquito.

* * *

The blood stain on the floor was a particularly nice touch to the décor, Montaron thought. It added a certain _something_.

"'Ere," he said to the innkeeper, behind the bar. The man looked around blindly.

"Down _'ere_," commanded Montaron, whistling shrilly. The innkeeper looked down.

"Oh, terribly sorry, good sir," he simpered. "What can I--"

"Shut up an' tell me-- did a short big'un come through here? Red-blondie, not much t' th' rack, in company of two half-elves at least?"

"Er..." began the innkeeper hesitantly. "Well, yes, but I'm sworn to confidentiality when it comes to my guest list, you see..."

Montaron looked around at the patrons and opened his jerkin just enough for the innkeeper to see the set of extremely sharp knives sewn into special pockets in the leather. "Ye were sayin'?"

The man was visibly frightened. "Yes, sir. I'll just, er, see if my staff heard anything about them..."


	7. Yipping and Yapping

The mines were south of Nashkel, and were apparently the talk of the town.

On their way out of the town, Willow had heard many more rumors than she had the day before. Nashkel seemed to be having many troubles, not the least of which was the Town Guard's captain, who had allegedly gone insane and murdered his entire family. But the majority of them were the mines. Many men were going down, but not nearly enough were coming back up again. There was talk that the foreman of the mine would be resigning any day, now.

"I'm turnin' in my resignation any day, now," he announced as they walked up to him, "So don't even bother askin', just go down there. If ye find out what's wrong, good. If ye don't come back, not my problem."

"Gee, how nice of him not to give us any trouble," whispered Imoen to Willow as they walked into the darkness.

"Must be easier to let adventurers get eaten than to turn them away," replied Willow.

They let their eyes adjust to the darkness of the tunnels before moving much past the entrance. "E-Even with infravision, I s-still prefer the daylight..." said Khalid wistfully, looking back at the sun shining through the rocky opening.

"Indeed," agreed Jaheira. "It feels... unnatural here," she added, peering down the nearest side-tunnel.

"(No doubt everything feels unnatural to you. Otherwise, how would you keep your job as Meddling Treehugger?)" muttered Edwin. Jaheira glared at him, and he gave her an innocent look.

"Alright, people," said Willow, beckoning everyone down the main tunnel. "Let's get this over with."

* * *

They quickly came across the patrons of the mine, looking haggard and tired, in unkempt clothing. Many of them had a constant cough, and all of them were incredibly paranoid.

"Demons!" screeched one miner when they inquired as to what he thought the problem was.

"Scary demons!" chimed in another.

"Scary, _yapping_ demons!" finished a third.

"_Yapping_ demons?" asked Imoen, looking puzzled.

"Yes, yes, yes!" said the third. "They yip and yap and yarp like... like... like little lapdogs at tea parties! But they're huge! So _huge_!"

"Well, that was helpful," opined Edwin as they began searching for a tunnel that would lead further down into the mines.

"One must take what information one can get," reminded Jaheira.

"Y-Yes, there's n-never much!" said Khalid cheerfully.

Edwin executed an admirable eyeroll. Willow clapped him on the back for the second time that day and said, "No worries, Eddie. I'm sure things'll get exciting soon. They always do, with me around!"

The mage snorted. "Yes, because that is _so_ encouraging. Remind me to suggest later that you take up a career in teaching positive thinking."

* * *

Before they got much further into the mines, they discovered what "yapping" had meant.

"Kobolds," said Jaheira, as they examined the small bodies of the creatures that had attacked them. "Lizard-like humanoids. That would explain the 'yapping'."

"They must use these to make their shadows look bigger," said Imoen, pointing to a fallen lantern that spluttered and gone out as the kobold holding it had dropped it. "They stand in front of them and it projects their shadows... that's why the miners think they're so big."

"An astoundingly astute observation from one so annoying," said Edwin dryly.

Imoen stuck her tongue out at him.

"Come, come, children," said Jaheira, smirking a little as she stood. "We must work together if we are to defeat the evil, evil kobolds."

* * *

Edwin's journal, usually sparse, was quickly becoming very verbose, indeed.

As they sat on various rocks, resting after yet another bout of kobold killing, he scribbled madly, trying to get all of his numerous (and each highly important) thoughts into writing. The dim light was unsuitable for even walking at these lower levels, and so he had long-since conjured a ball of light to float in mid-air and aid them in seeing. Imoen had thought it almost unbearably cute and tried to tickle it, which ended in a singed finger and an indignant "hmph!"

Now it was floating just behind his right shoulder as he wrote. Yaps and hisses were echoing along the tunnels in the distance, though no other kobolds had yet found them. Edwin had begun a page for each member of the group and was recording his thoughts on them. So far he didn't have much, but he could surely gather more information over time.

* * *

_**Willow (surname unknown)**_

_Human. Approximate height: Five feet, three inches. Approximate weight: … bony. Age: 21_

_Orphan. Suspect heritage. Annoying tendency to call me "Eddie."_

_I**moen (surname unknown)**_

_Human. Approximate height: Five feet, two inches. Approximate weight: …well-fed. Age: 20 (acts as if she is 15, if not younger)._

"_Best friend" of Willow. Also orphan, most likely also of suspect heritage. Annoyingly cheerful. Displays propensity for illegal activities. Disturbingly loyal, considering minimal reward for traveling with Willow._

_**Jaheira (surname unknown)**_

_Half-Elf. Approximate height: Five feet, seven inches. Approximate weight: Pleasingly lithe, with unfortunate tendency towards musculature. Age: Unknown._

_Shrill harpy._

_**Khalid (surname unknown)**_

_Half-Elf. Approximate height: Five feet, ten inches. Approximate weight: Surely less than a warrior should have. Age: Unknown._

_In a word: Whipped._

_**Kivan (surname unknown)**_

_Elf. Approximate height: Five feet, ten inches. Approximate weight: Elvishly thin; almost bonier than Willow. Age: Unknown (most probably older than any others)._

_Perpetually depressed. Subject of keen observation by Willow. (She would do better to choose a more impressive body to moon over; mine would make an excellent target, though would also likely put me in harm's way, as she is clearly too gregarious for her own good.) Took Willow aside upon entering Nashkel mines to speak of something; could only hear words "Tazok" and "vengeance." Willow appeared troubled._

_**Garrick (surname unknown)**_

_Human. Approximate height: Six feet, one inch. Approximate weight: Only just coming out of awkward adolescence; surely does not weight much at all. Age: 21_

_A silly boy to match a silly girl (Imoen). Displays minimal skill with small harp he carries. Voice shakes; seems hardly out of the squeaks of adolescence. Undoubtedly also still has knobby knees and uncoordinated limbs. Attempting to teach Imoen magic (which will surely end in a fiery death for the both of them)._

Edwin snapped the journal shut as Imoen peered down at it.

"Whatcha writin', Eddie?" she asked.

"Don't call me that. And it's none of your business." Obviously this "Eddie" business was catching; best to nip it in the bud right now.

"Sure, Eddie. Just don't go selling a novel and leaving us to fight the kobolds all by our lonesome," Imoen joked as she gathered up her bow and bent down to pick up any unbroken arrows she could find.

Edwin sighed and stood up, banging his head on a low outcropping of stone. "Gah! (Curse these low ceilings! Am I the only one here tall enough to have trouble?)"

In reality, Garrick, the only other person in the group to be somewhat more than six feet tall, was having the same problem. In these unfinished tunnels the work was shoddy and the ceilings were, at best, unusually low. But Edwin was not about to admit that there was another who might have the same dilemma as he.

So far they had traveled three levels down, each level becoming more infested with kobolds that carried strange bottles of green liquid. Willow, attempting to pick a shard of glass from an abandoned barrow of ore, had hissed in pain as the residue from the liquid burned her skin. As Jaheira muttered a small healing spell over Willow's hand, Imoen had used a rock to push a piece of ore out of the barrow, where it had crumbled into dust upon hitting the ground.

Now, as they continued along the tunnels, more yipping and various other monstrous noises echoed around them, and they had begun encountering traps as well.

Edwin had to admit that it was useful to have Imoen around. The girl may be irritating, but she was handy with the crude snares the kobolds had set up, and so far none of them had fallen prey to one.

It was really quire irritating. All of the stories had hinted towards horrors too numerous to mention but they had simply been skewering kobolds left and right almost since they'd stepped foot in the mine. It was hardly even worth it for him to bother using his spells on them. In fact, the last battle he had simply stood back and tried to get the hang of the sling he had picked up a few days before—the rest of the group handled the kobolds quickly. Willow had moved past him on the way to kill a kobold and he had distinctly heard a sigh of exasperation.

This little venture was certainly not going in his memoirs. Stepping over dead kobolds and accidentally cutting your fingers on their scales was not very entertaining novel fodder.

Finally, they reached a lava flow. Magma was hardening as it reached air as fast as new lava was coming in. Fairly soon, Edwin surmised, there would either be a wall of hardened lava here or it would overflow the entire mine. He wasn't quite sure which option was the more desirable.

Turning east, they encountered more kobolds.

As he was fumbling with his sling, Edwin heard a hissing noise and looked down to see that an arrow had caught in the hem of his robe. The only difference between this arrow and the others the kobolds fired was that was one was _on_ fire. Yelping, he attempted to stamp on his robe, which only made him almost fall headfirst into the lava on either side of them.

Willow came to his rescue, gripping his shoulder for balance as she hopped on his robe to put the fire out. "Watch out for that one's arrows!" she called to the others as she ran forward to engage the kobolds.

As they tended their wounds (Kivan had a cut on his cheek from a kobold arrow and Khalid was slashed on the leg), there was a strange scuttling sound. They all fell silent to listen. A chittering sounded in the darkness in front of them.

"That doesn't sound good," whispered Imoen, eyes wide.

Garrick moved forward slightly, Edwin's mage-light in tow, to look. "I think…" he began. "I think they're spiders."

"Sp-spiders?" asked Willow.

"Very large spiders…"

Indeed, two exceptionally large arachnids were legging it towards them faster than any spider should. As they emerged from the darkness into the light, Willow gave a sort of whimpering scream and backed away so quickly she tripped over her own feet.

Kivan, drawing a long spear from a holster on his back, and Khalid, brandishing his sword, leapt to attack the spiders while Imoen helped Willow up. Willow had no intention of staying, however. She sprinted back through the caves, over the stone bridge, Imoen hot on her heels.

A few moments later, Jaheira went looking for the two girls while Kivan and Khalid tended their new wounds and gulped antidotes. Edwin surreptitiously added a note to his journal in Willow's section that said: _Apparently deathly afraid of spiders, or at least giant ones_.

Jaheira emerged from the darkness behind the party clutching a frightened-looking Willow by the wrist. As they approached the others, Willow looked down at the ground and frowned at it as if it had caused her some grave personal insult.

"Willow, obviously, is afraid of giant spiders," said Jaheira. "She will not be aiding us should we encounter any more."

"(A blessing, no doubt; surely had she attempted to fight she would have gutted herself with her own sword. Or swords, as the case may be.) That seems a logical strategy," Edwin added in normal volume.

Willow straightened her back and sniffed disdainfully at Edwin, then cast a quick glance towards Kivan, who was trying to stop the sluggish bleeding of a spider bite on his leg (and not paying much attention to anything else going on). She sighed, caught the amused look Edwin shot at her, and cleared her throat, trying to look normal.

"'S'okay, Wil," assured Imoen, tugging at her friend's sleeve. "Everyone's a little bit afraid of giant spiders. They're, well, giant, after all."

Willow did not seem terribly reassured.

Spiders gone, they moved forward once again. Imoen stopped Khalid just as he was about to step on a trip-wire. It looked like it was set by someone more skilled than the kobolds. Once she was done disarming it, they traveled down yet another sloping tunnel, to emerge in a large, water-filled cavern. A bridge of eroding rock led to a dome-shaped structure in the middle of the underground lake.

"You no get past us!" yipped yet another kobold as they emerged from the tunnel. It fired an arrow, which narrowly zipped past Kivan's ear. He replied with an arrow of his own, which hit the kobold in its scaly chest.

Fighting their way through the small force guarding it, they entered the dome.

* * *

Imoen went ahead of the rest, sneaking in what she hoped was a skilled manner amongst the large stalagmites jutting up from the cave floor. Towards the back of one section of the cavernous dome, she found a pile of dirty rags that turned out to be an elf when she poked it.

"Ouch!" protested the rags, rising up to reveal that they were hanging on the frame of an emaciated, miserable looking man. He glared up at her, but then his eyes widened.

"You're not Mulahey!" he said. "Could it be? Have I finally been rescued?"

Imoen was about to reply when he shook his head violently, frowning again. "No, no, I mustn't get my hopes up. How silly of me to think that something could possibly go well for me, of all people."

"Gee, yer just a ray o' sunshine, aren'tcha?" asked Imoen.

"Indeed, my elocutionary friend," said the elf. He sighed heavily. "I suppose I should ask what you _are_ doing here, if not to leave me here in my utter misery."

"We're here to find out what's happenin' to the mines," said Imoen. She knelt down beside him. "You mind if I get to work on that?" she said, pointing to the padlock that secured the chains around his feet.

He shook his head, seemingly taken aback. Imoen pulled out the leather roll she kept her lockpicks in and started fiddling with the lock.

"I was sent here for the same reason," he said after a moment. "Had I known that joining the Greycloaks would lead to such torment I would have told them where to stick their 'training' long before this."

"The Greycloaks of Evereska?" asked Imoen distractedly, sticking her tongue out as she carefully wedged a pick into the keyhole.

He seemed pleasantly surprised that she even knew what he was talking about. "Indeed."

Several moments of intent silence followed as Imoen struggled with the padlock, but eventually there was a tiny, satisfying click. She chuckled to herself. "Am I good, or am I good?"

"Very good, yes," said the elf. Imoen gasped as the chains dropped from his ankles, revealing open sores on top of old calluses. "So many days spent away from the sun..." he muttered, chafing at them with the hem of his robe. "How will I know what I'm about when I am finally free?"

"What's yer name, anyway, Sunshine?" asked Imoen as she helped him to his feet. He wobbled violently, but kept his stance.

He scowled at her new nickname, but replied, "Xan."

"With a Z?" asked the young thief, supporting him as they took a few wobbly steps forward.

"With an X."

"Well, Xan with an X, I think you're gonna like my friends..."

* * *

Sneaking past the most-occupied "room" of the cave was significantly more difficult with a companion, but the rest of the party welcomed Xan with open arms. Or at least, Willow and Khalid did. Jaheira and Kivan peered at him with suspicious, narrowed eyes, and Edwin gave him a cursory glance before ignoring him in favor of examining his fingernails.

"He's from Evereska," said Imoen as she leaned the elf against a wall. He took the added support gratefully. "Can we keep 'im?"

"He is not a puppy, child," admonished Jaheira.

"Aw, c'mon," said Willow, grinning. "We'd feed him and walk him and clean up after him."

Xan looked bemused.

"Shall we proceed?" asked Kivan tightly. Willow's grin faded.

"Yeah, alright. How're we gonna do this?"

"I suggest a frontal assault," said Kivan. Edwin rolled his eyes behind his back.

"(Yes, because rushing blindly into battle is such a marvelous idea." he muttered.

Willow looked at Jaheira, who pursed her lips but said nothing. "Well, let's try Kivan's plan and see what happens," said Willow. "It can't be a _total_ disaster, can it?"

* * *

Kivan's heart was racing as he shoved through the silken curtain dividing the group from the man they were seeking. Inside was a large, probably half-orc man who had been rising from a bed covered in equally extravagant cloths. He looked first surprised, then outraged, and drew to his full, rather impressive height.

"What? How'd _you_ get in here?" he asked, large teeth making him sound vaguely monstrous.

"I must say, this is an impressive room for being underground. Musty and smelly it may be, but these are high-quality linens," remarked Edwin casually from a corner, where he was inspecting a couch covered in pillows. He picked up a book from the floor and turned a few pages.

The half-orc turned to him and raised his brows, then looked worried. "T-Tazok must've sent you… please don't hurt me, I've been doing everything he said! Those damnable kobolds must not be getting it right…"

Edwin glanced over at him, distracted from the book, and said, "Oh, yes, my obvious aura of authority is most certainly working in my favor. Please, tell us what exactly this Tazok ordered you to do." He turned back to the book.

The half-orc turned to the others, looked at Kivan, smiled a smile that revealed very sharp teeth, and said, "No, perhaps I'll just kill you all."

Kivan leapt forward. Mulahey feinted left, and dodged right. The elf couldn't slow his momentum in time and tumbled onto the bed.

Jaheira quickly chanted a spell under her breath, pointing at the half-orc, who was sprinting towards the silk curtain. Vines sprang from the cracks in the cave floor and shot up to entangle his legs. He fell to the floor, his jaw cracking on the hard ground.

Willow sat on his back, as did Khalid. Kivan had freed himself from the covers that stank of Mulahey and hastily put his spear to the panting half-orc's throat. Edwin had abandoned the book to stand at the ready in case he should need to cast any spells.

"Tell us everything," Kivan growled.

Mulahey burst into tears.

From atop his back, Willow said, "Geeze, and I thought I was quick to change my tune!" Imoen, in a corner, her bow trained on the half-orc, giggled nervously.

"If I t-tell you, T-Tazok'll kill me but g-good!" Mulahey whimpered through large tears that dripped off his nose and splashed on the ornate carpet under him.

"Don't tell us and _I'll_ kill you," Kivan answered, pushing forward with the spear so that it drew blood. The half-orc cried harder.

"Never! I can't!"

"Where is Tazok?" shouted Kivan. He growled and pushed even harder with the spear. "Who is he working for?? I will let you live!"

"No!" The carpet was nearly soaked with tears.

"Fine," said Kivan, and before anyone could stop him, shoved forward with all his might, impaling the spear halfway through the half-orc's throat.

"I thought you said you'd let him live!" shouted Willow, scrambling up from where she'd fallen on top of the dead man.

Kivan wiped some drops of blood from his face. "I lied."


	8. Amazons and Backlash

After their quarry's death, almost everyone was in a foul mood, especially Willow.

"Xan's right. His name is… er, was, Mulahey." Imoen shuffled through the papers she had found in a chest in the half-orc's underground suite. "Yep, there's mention of Tazok here… and a bandit camp. And some contact named Tranzig. He's waiting at Feldepost's in Beregost. Hey, we know where that is!"

"We'll have to wait until later, I promised Eddie we'd do his 'errand' after we finished up here," said Willow from the corner where she had retreated and was sorting through a bunch of linens, rather more violently than was truly necessary.

"(At least the little monkey-girl keeps her promises…)" muttered Edwin.

"We must act quickly, who knows how long Tranzig will wait?" protested Kivan.

"He can wait, then!" shrieked Willow, turning around only briefly to glare at Kivan and then retreat back to her rifling through fabric. "And you can damn well keep quiet about it, mister 'I've-got-my-vengeance-to-think-about-so-I-think-I'll-kill-the-only-source-of-firsthand-information-here'!"

"(She does have a point.)" Edwin chimed in, though quietly enough so that Kivan couldn't hear him.

Kivan looked down at Mulahey, still with his spear halfway through his throat, then away. "I suppose I deserved that," he said, so quietly he almost whispered, and walked out of the room.

"You certainly did," murmured Willow to herself as she vehemently shoved a fine silk into a sack. Edwin nearly bit his fist in frustration as he watched her manhandling the fabrics.

"Ah, let me," he said as he came over and grabbed the victimized velvet from her hand as she was about to pack it. "You are in no mood to pack fine linens. They must be handled carefully." He began taking the crushed pieces out of the sack.

Willow took a deep breath. "Fine then. Thanks. Those should fetch a good price… somewhere." She moved over to where Imoen was standing to examine the letters herself.

"If you have not damaged them beyond recognition, that is." Edwin began rolling the various pieces of silk and velvet so as to cause as little creasing as possible.

"As clearly agitated as he is, Kivan makes a good argument, child," Jaheira pointed out as Willow approached. "This Tranzig will not stay at Feldepost's forever, and we must get to him before he has decided Mulahey is… incapacitated."

"Edwin's chore shouldn't take long. Assuming we can find it, that is…"

"Oh, that shouldn't be a problem!" exclaimed Edwin, falsely cheery. "(I hope.)"

"There you go, then. Ouch!" Willow had been reaching into a chest without really looking, and had paid for her distraction with a cut finger. Popping it into her mouth, she finally looked into the box and saw several pieces of weaponry.

Jaheira sighed, muttering something that sounded like, "The girl attracts injuries like a jousting match attracts idiots," and pulled Willow's finger from her mouth, extracting a roll of small bandages from somewhere in her pocket at the same time.

"Lookit this!" Imoen said, pulling a short sword from the chest. Willow recognized it as a weapon akin to the one she had seen in Thunderhammer's forge, and took it eagerly in her left hand while Jaheira bandaged her right.

"Ooh, shiny," she said, grinning, as Imoen dug into the box once more.

"(Well, now I have good reason to call her a 'birdbrain', at least.)" muttered Edwin.

"Wow, this is impressive!" enthused Imoen as she came up once again, this time holding a longer but more frail-looking sword. It had exquisite detail in the twisting quality of its hilt, and shone more brightly even than the one Willow had already claimed. "I wonder who Mulahey stole _this_ from?"

"That would be me," said Xan's voice from the entrance to the cave. He limped toward them. "Although I shouldn't wonder it has already tarnished in this hellhole," he added, taking the sword. It immediately burst into blue flames, startling even Edwin. Xan was visibly relieved, and stood a little straighter.

Xan looked at Mulahey's corpse with distaste. "Clearly you've prevailed where I couldn't—I'm used to it."

Willow, who had quickly decided when she had met him that Xan was perhaps the most depressing (and yet amusing) being she had ever met, gave him her best wide-eyed stare. He answered it with a twitch of the mouth.

"I do tend to have that effect on people." He sagged a little, and Imoen hurried forward to catch him. "If you'd be so kind..." he muttered, nodding to a chair in the corner of the cave.

As Xan sank into the chair with a groan the rest of them finished gathering their supplies and selecting "spoils of war," as it were, to bring back with them. Kivan stalked back into the cave and retrieved his spear without much trouble, though as he pulled it from the muscles in the half-orc's neck, Imoen ran from the room. When she came back in, wiping at her mouth with shaking hands, no one commented, though Garrick gave her a friendly squeeze on the shoulder.

Finally, they were ready to go. Kivan had gathered up proof of Mulahey's demise in the form of a holy symbol of Talos, and found a small box full of the vials they had been finding in the mines. Edwin, complaining about how much such light fabrics could weigh when in large quantities, shouldered the bag of silks, and Imoen and Garrick discretely spirited away the spell scrolls they had found in the bottom of a chest. Willow threw away one of her old short swords, where it cracked and crumbled into dust as it hit a wall, and replaced it with the newer, magical one.

Jaheira shook Xan awake from where he'd fallen asleep in the chair. Willow noticed that he looked almost peaceful when he slept, though the worried frown returned almost immediately.

"There is a secret entrance through which I originally entered," he said as he stood up, wobbling. Jaheira gave him her staff to lean on, and retrieved the one they had taken from Silke for her own use. "Doubtless it has collapsed. It nearly did on my head."

"Where is it?" piped Imoen.

Xan waved his had to the right vaguely.

"(How very descriptive. Remind me never to ask you directions.) Surely you can be a little more explicit than that?" grumbled Edwin.

"Look, let's just go out and you can tell us from there," said Willow, who was getting an edge to her voice again, and everyone thought this a good idea.

They emerged back into the larger cavern. It was eerily silent, as if the kobolds knew of the death of their master and had fled. As they traveled north around the edge of the lake, strange, liquid noises, like water lapping against a dock, reached their ears. Imoen looked at Xan with wide eyes.

"That would be the jellies," said Xan in a surprisingly unconcerned voice. "I outran them when last I was here, but with my weakened legs I can only hope it will be a quick demise. I suppose the acid eating through my flesh will help somewhat. I imagine it has a numbing effect."

Even Khalid sighed in resignation then.

They encountered the gelatinous puddles near a crack in the rock. They glopped slowly towards the party, making menacing noises akin to those a shovel makes when cleaning out a cesspool.

"Maybe we should run," suggested Imoen.

"Yes, leave me here to die, please," said Xan, almost cheerfully.

Willow rolled her eyes and motioned to Garrick, who looked puzzled, then to Xan. Garrick blinked, then grinned and nodded.

"On the count of three, then," said Willow, adjusting her pack.

"Have a nice life… though I'm sure you won't," pined Xan.

"One," said Willow.

"I do hope you'll find it in your heart to—agh!" Garrick, who was apparently stronger than he looked, had picked Xan up and flung him over one shoulder. The emaciated elf was a lighter burden than he'd apparently been expecting, because he hesitated a moment, but recovered quickly and crouched in anticipation of sprinting.

"Two," continued Willow.

"Put me down! This is terribly undignified!"

"Right. Three." They sprinted towards the crack in the cavern wall, acid being spit at them from all directions, and scrambled up the rocky slope towards the distant shine of daylight, Xan complaining all the way.

"Phew!" exhaled Imoen as they reached the outside world. Everyone came panting behind her, and Garrick set Xan gently back on the ground, where he wavered and nearly fell backwards but for a convenient rock to grab onto.

"That was perhaps the most humiliating thing I have ever experienced," Xan said, looking unsurprised. "No wonder it happened to me." He hobbled off to collapse in the dust a few feet away.

"That was fun!" exclaimed Imoen, beaming.

Edwin gave her a Look and shook his head. "(What have I gotten myself into?)"

* * *

They made camp among the rocks a short distance from the tunnel they had emerged from. It had collapsed just as Khalid, in the rear, had passed through, and they didn't think there was much danger of the jellies coming to have them as a midnight snack.

Willow had grown increasingly quiet as the day wore on, and now she was sitting next to Xan on a rock, staring into the campfire. They were taking turns sighing alternately. Edwin, scribbling madly in his journal, was casting quick, surreptitious glances at them from the left. Imoen had retreated, once again, to Garrick's company, and they were studying the spellbooks they had bought from Thalantyr. Edwin, when he wasn't looking at Willow, turned occasionally to scoff at the two would-be spellcasters as they puzzled over how to get the scroll to the book.

Jaheira and Khalid were conversing in low voices, and Jaheira was also observing Willow from the corners of her eyes. Willow was oblivious to all the attention, and continued looking melancholy. Kivan was sitting on a rock a few feet from the rest of the group, also looking depressed, but there was a defiant edge to his face.

"I will take first watch this night," proclaimed Jaheira, standing up. "We should all get some rest; tomorrow will involve a lot of traveling if we are to accomplish this chore of Edwin's Willow speaks of. Or so I assume. Do we actually know where we are going?" She looked pointedly at Edwin.

He looked up from his journal. "Of course! (For the most part. I think. I hope.)"

"Well?" Jaheira replied.

"Well what?" he asked, playing for time.

"Well, where are we going?" She was beginning to sound quite exasperated.

"Er… East. From Nashkel. Yes, east."

Jaheira sighed. "Very well, be vague. Or ignorant, I can't tell which. In any case, you should all go to sleep." She made shooing motions with her hands, and everyone, grumbling or yawning, made preparations to go to bed.

Edwin waited around and then accosted Xan. "It is a strange rapport you have with the girl," he said, gesturing vaguely at Willow, who was getting situated in her bedroll. "Explain it, if you would."

Xan looked puzzled, looking over at Willow and back at Edwin. Finally he said, "I believe you humans have a saying: 'Misery loves company.'" He limped off to arrange a makeshift bed out of his tattered cloak.

Edwin pondered this, and made a note of it in his journal.

* * *

Willow dreamed of Mulahey that night.

He was standing in front of her, not moving, but sobbing soundlessly. Fat tears rolled down his face and off his squashed nose, making him the picture of a pitiful half-orc. A dagger appeared in the air in front of her, the blade made of what looked like sharpened bone. It floated in the air, somehow managing to look expectant.

Kivan appeared on her right. "If you won't do it, then I will," he said. His dark eyes flashed, and she could tell that it wasn't really him.

"Kill this pathetic thing, just because I can?" she asked in her most insolent tone possible, as if she were a little girl being contrary to her father. She had the strangest feeling that that comparison was more significant than she had first thought.

"Why shouldn't you?" asked Kivan. "He was too weak to resist serving Tazok. He was too weak even to fight for his life. Why shouldn't you kill him like the dog he is?"

"I happen to like dogs," she answered. "And besides, everyone is too weak to do something. You were too weak to resist the violence."

Kivan's face shifted for a moment into a snarl that shouldn't have been possible with an elf's features-- the teeth were to sharp, the lips pulled back like those of an angry wolf. "Don't turn the tables on me, whelp! I am part of you and you will never be able to escape me! Now DO IT."

Willow found herself being thrown forward. She dug in her heels, but it didn't help much. Her arm was lifted without her doing and the fingers made to grasp the hilt of the dagger.

"I'd sooner cut off my own fingers than obey you!" she screeched. "Why should I do what you want? I go my own way!"

"You follow the two mongrels like an obedient dog," snapped Kivan, circling her as she fought, like a vulture waiting for its next meal to die. "Already you are like a slave to the wizard, running off to do his dirty work. You should have killed the girl long ago for her weakness. Murder is in your blood. You WILL obey it. And you will be rewarded."

Only with tremendous effort did Willow stop moving forward. With even more, she managed to turn around and walk away, feeling as though she were swimming against a waterfall.

Behind her, a voice came; not Kivan's but still sounding strangely familiar: YOU _WILL_ LEARN!

She woke just as the dagger also turned and plunged into her back.

* * *

They awoke early the next day, sun shining brightly into their eyes and off the rocks in this strangely arid landscape. Striations in the rock showed red and orange and copper, and dust rose from their feet as they moved to pack. As they headed north, vultures circled overhead, hoping for a fresh meal.

"A charming location. Perhaps we will encounter a woman with snakes for hair and a face so ugly it peels paint," grumbled Edwin as they walked. He had never been to a desert, and wasn't sure that this was a true one, but as far as he was concerned it was close enough, and he didn't like it.

As they head east, the party became aware of four figures approaching through the heat-haze rising from the ground. As they drew in front of them, Edwin realized that it was _four_ figures, women, each looking like hardened criminals more than warriors.

"Maybe they're Amazons," murmured Imoen, from beside him. They had been walking in the rear of the group.

"What? (What?)" replied Edwin in a voice just as quiet.

"Warrior women from a chain of islands somewhere. They keep men as slaves for reproductive purposes and they're great archers. Supposedly they cut off their right breast to make it easier to draw a bow. I read that somewhere in Candlekeep," she added, somewhat proudly.

"Ghastly. (A ghastly waste of truly lovely features, that is.)"

But these women clearly had their chests intact. "You there!" called the one in front, a cleric by the looks of it, in a husky voice. She wore plate mail that had been enameled black, and carried a heavy mace like it was a twig. She pointed at Willow. "You are Willow of Candlekeep, yes?"

"If you already know, why do you have to ask?" replied Willow, looking grim. "I'm in no mood for this today. If you're here to kill me let's get to business."

"I had heard you were an easy sort," replied the cleric. "I do so hate those that whine. Truly, this will be a satisfying bounty to collect. Come then, girls." She began to cast a spell.

Willow leapt forward and unceremoniously began hacking at anything within reach. The rest of the group hurried to help her.

Imoen shot arrows at cracks between pieces of armor, occasionally scurrying to another position so as to be a moving target. Edwin hurled spells like there was no tomorrow.

Khalid moved in to engage the cleric up-close, preventing her from casting spells to heal her companions. He pressed her hard while Jaheira stayed back and chanted a prayer to Silvanus to grant them a boon from Nature. After that, the dust which had been stirred by the fighting stayed away from their eyes and the ground beneath the assassins' feet seemed to crumble, hindering their movement.

Edwin thought that they were doing surprisingly well, until one of the women turned to face him and grinned a very scary grin. It was in that moment that he remember that he had forgotten to apply a Mage Armor spell when the battle had begun.

Too late. She drew back her arm and something flew toward him. There was a sharp, skin-tearing pain in his abdomen and he fell backwards, a hand at his stomach. "Augh! I could use some help here, fools!" he gasped as he hit the ground.

Suddenly, Willow was at his side, kneeling. He looked where she was looking to see a very long, probably very sharp dart sticking out of his stomach. His hand was involuntarily clutching at it and he couldn't help whimpering.

"Gah! I'm going to die in some desert with a simian staring at me!" he shouted. "(I'm going to die! I'm going to die! That's the important part!)" he added.

"Don't be such a wimp, Eddie," Willow muttered as she grabbed his hand and moved it, noticing that it was already worryingly drenched in blood. She tried to examine the wound but as she touched it he yelled and clutched at her wrist.

"Edwin, I'm trying to help you!"

"Your pawing is merely causing excruciating agony! (Argh! Argh!) Wait for the damn druid to get over here!" Edwin managed to turn his head to see that Jaheira was locked in combat with one of the women, being slashed at with a dagger. "(Oh, dear gods, I'm left in the care of a psychopath.)"

"Jaheira's a little busy, as you can see," said Willow, clearly trying to keep her patience as she pried his hand from her wrist.

"(If I must die at least there is someone of the female persuasion nearby.)" Edwin coughed. "(Perhaps she will mourn. Some dramatic weeping would be nice.)" He was beginning to feel lightheaded. Willow's face wavered in his vision as his eyes began to malfunction.

"Maybe I can stop the bleeding…" Willow put her hands to the gash in his stomach and Edwin shut his eyes tightly. He groaned as she wrenched the dart from his flesh, and noted with a certain detachment that the blood was now flowing quite freely down his sides. It was sticky and wet and he thought blearily that there would be no way to get the stains out. Then there was a flash of blue light that shone brightly through his eyelids and a thump next to him.

Edwin opened one eye to see that Willow had apparently blacked out next to him. His stomach also felt infinitely better. He sat up cautiously at felt at his abdomen. There was nothing but smooth, unmarred skin.

That was when Edwin decided that perhaps Willow was even more of a conundrum than he had first thought.

* * *

"Tell me again what happened," Jaheira said to Edwin for the fifth time since the battle had ended.

Edwin sighed. "I have told you enough times to fill a book, druid. Hands on wound, flash of blue light, thump, all better. (Perhaps the simple wording will help her to understand.)"

Jaheira looked back at Willow, who was still out cold next to Edwin. She had pushed Edwin onto his back again and refused to let get up before she had examined him thoroughly. Willow remained unmoving, though she was breathing. Now Jaheira was peering through the rip in Edwin's robe and the shirt underneath to the now-healed skin where the dart had been. Edwin cleared his throat somewhat embarrassedly as the druid felt his abdomen, as though she expected some horrible cut to simply show itself with a few passes.

"There's no need to manhandle me any longer, I am perfectly fine," he said, though he resisted the potentially fatal urge to push Jaheira away. She sighed and moved on to examining Willow, which allowed him to sit up.

As Jaheira did things that Edwin wasn't sure he saw the point of, like lifting Willow's eyelid to peer in her eye and pinching around various joints, Imoen moved in to kneel beside the two of them and stare at Willow.

"I wonder how she healed you?" she said.

"An interesting question indeed. (One which I may have an inkling about…)"

"Has she shown any sign of having clerical abilities, perhaps?" asked Kivan, standing above Willow's limp form.

"I suppose that would explain some of it," remarked Jaheira from the ground, where she was testing just how limp Willow was by picking up one arm and letting it drop. "Perhaps the energy was simply too much for her body to handle."

Kivan nodded, and allowed himself to look slightly worried.

"Perhaps we sh-should simply let her r-rest," suggested Khalid.

Jaheira stood. "I'm afraid that is all we can do. I can find nothing wrong with her, except for the fact that she is unconscious." Edwin scoffed. "We should continue on towards Nashkel. Someone will have to carry her."

"I will carry her," said Edwin, surprising even himself. He rose, trying to look as dignified as anyone can while still brushing dirt off one's backside. "I suppose it would be fitting for someone who has just healed a grievous wound in my unparalleled personage. (Although I had the situation entirely in control. Yes I did.)"

"Sure, Eddie, the cries of 'I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die!' were entirely fictitious," joked Imoen, grinning.

Edwin sniffed in dignified derision, hawkish nose scrunching up as he glared haughtily down at the younger girl. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Imoen couldn't answer for her giggles, so Edwin bent down and hauled Willow into his arms, after shoving his pack in Garrick's direction, saying, "If I am to carry more useless baggage, you might as well, too. (Though her skin is strangely soft for that of an adventurer. Bah, get over it, Edwin.)"

* * *

Edwin somewhat regretted his magnanimous offer to carry the girl, as by the time they reached Nashkel she was still not awake and he was nearly ready to collapse under the weight. She was light enough, being so small (and almost frail, he was surprised to find), but the combined heat of the sun and strain on his back was a burden heavier than she was.

There was yet another shady-looking character lurking around the general store as they passed it on the way to the inn, hoping to rent some rooms and get a bed to put Willow in before they reported to the mayor, but aside from looking vaguely surprised to see Willow slung over Edwin's shoulder, he didn't make any moves toward the party, which was a welcome change.

Finally, Edwin was allowed to deposit Willow in a clean bed and stretch his back out. As Jaheira tucked the covers around Willow he stalked out of the room, muttering about seeking a bath to wash the "stench of amateurish girl-child adventurers" off him.

Jaheira, Khalid, and Kivan once again left to speak to the mayor, leaving Garrick, Imoen, Xan, and Edwin to their own devices. Imoen and Garrick attempted to pump a weary Xan for information about magic and how one used it while Edwin wandered off to get himself clean of the dirt, dust, and sweat (most of which was his own, but some of which was Willow's).

The three senior members of the group arrived back some time later to find Xan trying to ward off the combined persuasive efforts of Garrick and Imoen, Edwin sitting in the corner, hair dripping but still managing to look smug, and Willow slumped at Edwin's table with her head in her arms, looking exhausted but at least mostly alive.

They walked over to Willow, where Edwin was saying, "I assume your mental capabilities have not been affected by the overload of your senses?"

"Whazzat, papa? Time for bed? Mmkay… nighty-night!" replied Willow, shifting so that her arms hid her face from any light that dared to interrupt her dozing.

"(Ah, they seem to be in order, then.)" replied Edwin.

Jaheira shook her head, tsking. Khalid shook Willow awake as she batted weakly at his hand and led her back to her bed. Kivan looked around, sighed, and headed off to his room.

The door to the inn burst open. A very large figure stepped in, looking around. Everyone stared at it.

"I am Minsc, and this is Boo. We are looking for strong adventurers to help us get back our witch! Who's with us?" it proclaimed.

Edwin put his hand to his forehead in a long-suffering gesture.


	9. Rangers and Negotiations

Minsc and Boo could recognize fellow adventurers anywhere.

The large man, hamster on his shoulder, marched right up to Jaheira and grinned a grin that was like his face had split open. His eyes crinkled in a friendly sort of way, his teeth momentarily looked big enough to crack tree trunks, and his lips stretched to the limit and then some.

Jaheira was somewhat taken aback.

"Uh," she managed to say.

"Minsc would speak with you, pretty half-elven lady! Minsc and Boo are, as you may have heard, in need of help to rescue his witch. Kind Dynaheir is even now in the clutches of the hairy dog-creatures!"

Jaheira turned around just in time to see the hem of Edwin's robe disappear around the corner of the hallway to the inn's guest rooms. Silently cursing him, she turned around and managed to say, "Well, then… I… what exactly is happening, now?"

Willow shuffled out of her room and into the common room, rubbing at her eyes. Khalid followed and gestured to Jaheira that he just hadn't been able to get her to rest more, and smiled apologetically, to which she rolled her eyes behind Willow's back. Willow looked up, and up, and up into Minsc's face. She blinked.

"Hi there!" she said in the cheery tones of the recently addled. "Wow, you're really big."

"That Minsc is, little one, that Minsc is," Minsc said in the elaborate voice of an adult talking to an amusing child. "And you are very small! Like a little elf! Minsc could break you with one hand!" He beamed.

"Oh, I do hope you won't," said Willow, and swayed. Khalid caught her around the shoulders, but she protested, saying, "I'm fine, I'm fine… or I will be, anyway." She sat down heavily in the nearest chair, which happened to contain Imoen, who had been busy staring at Minsc.

"Hey!"

"Sorry…" Willow moved groggily to the next chair over, which held Garrick (who choked on his mead as she accidentally groped him in her effort to get to the next chair, which was mercifully empty).

Imoen sniggered and turned back to Minsc as Jaheira thumped Garrick on the back. "You are big! Are you some kinda warrior? Heh, sure you are, you don't waste size like that!"

"I am a Rashemi ranger, other little one! And this is Boo, a Giant Miniature Space Hamster." He held Boo out for inspection, who squeaked.

"D'awww!" exclaimed Imoen, and proceeded to pet the furry life out of Boo.

"Wha's'izz about a witch?" yawned Willow.

"Dynaheir is my wychalarn! Minsc was to make sure she was safe in her travels, as part of his dajemma, journey to manhood!" There was a pause as everyone digested the information that being twice as tall as the ordinary man and probably twice as strong as the ordinary elephant did not necessarily constitute manhood. "But sweet Dynaheir has been captured by the foul doggy-things! Minsc is strong, but not strong enough to kill all of these creatures. Therefore Minsc and Boo must have help!"

"Mmkay," mumbled Willow from the table. Imoen looked up from Boo long enough to nod her head earnestly, and Minsc beamed again. "Wahey! Minsc and Boo have allies! Evil, beware! This man and his hamster have found good people to help deliver the enema of goodness to evil's huge backside!" Boo squeaked loudly as he was lifted by Minsc's triumphant punching of the air.

"What's an enema?" Imoen whispered to the now-recovered Garrick.

He shook his head and said, "I dunno, but the mention of it fills me with foreboding."

Willow was distracted from Minsc's loud planning of a frontal assault on some gnolls by the sight of a finger curling around the doorframe and beckoning to her. Squinting, she rather thought it looked like a worm. But when not squinting, she thought it must be the rather bony digit of a certain Red Wizard. She got up as quietly as possible, which is to say that she knocked over a chair and stumbled over her own feet on the way. When she finally reached the hallway, she found Edwin lurking in the shadowy doorway of his room. He beckoned her closer, and when she obliged, he said, "I am well aware that with your mind in the (albeit only slightly worse) state it is in it is likely useless to argue your choice of companions; however, I must point out that this man is the guardian of my sworn enemy. Er, that is, of the psychotic, crazy, sadistic murderer I spoke of to you before. (Appealing to her somewhat skewed sense of justice should work.)"

"That sentence had a lotta words in it, Eddie, and frankly my brain don't work so good right now. Could you repeat that?" Willow swayed again and gripped the frame of Edwin's door for balance.

Edwin sighed heavily. "(Did it ever work before?) Big man my enemy," he said with expansive gestures. "He bad, me good. You no go with him. (I can feel my brain shrinking…)"

"Hey, I understood that! But, um, no."

"No? (No?)"

"You forget who's the top dog around here, Eddie. It's me." Willow tried to point to her chest with her thumb, and instead almost poked her eye out.

"Yes, I can see that you are entirely in control, although not of your own faculties. (Why do I even bother trying to get my way around here? She's lucky I have nothing better to do…)" Edwin turned around and stalked back into his room, slamming the door behind him.

Willow blinked at it for a moment, shrugged, and shuffled down the hall to her own room, where she collapsed back into her bed.

* * *

The next morning yielded a tense moment as Edwin emerged into the common room. Minsc's eyes widened and he stared at the mage as Edwin stuck his nose as high as it would go in the air and marched regally over to a chair at the largest table where everyone else was seated, sitting with kingly grace and only one instance of tripping on his robe.

Minsc, who looked about to say something, and loudly, stopped when Imoen tugged on the short bit of sleeve emerging from his leather armor and whispered something in his ear. Minsc nodded, a thoughtful look on his face, and seemed to calm down. When Willow walked into the room and sat beside Edwin, giving him a friendly punch on the shoulder (to which Edwin replied with a pained grunt), Minsc nodded to himself and whispered something to Boo. The close observer would have noticed that Boo nodded also, in a furry, hamster-like way.

Willow ate as though she had been starving for a week. Food nearly flew and Edwin recoiled in distaste as she filled her belly, and Imoen couldn't help but giggle at the contrast they made, with Edwin carefully cutting his food into small bites and daintily ingesting them while Willow tore at a piece of bread almost as big as her head with her teeth.

"Minsc admires a healthy appetite!" Minsc proclaimed as he happily watched Willow gnaw at the tough crust of the bread. Willow toasted him with a mug of milk and then guzzled it.

Xan rubbed at his temples as though he had a murderous migraine. "Stuffing your face is all very well, but I would like to discuss a proposition with you, when you can breathe again, Willow. Although perhaps you should save yourself the trouble of living and simply choke."

"That's not very nice, Xan," protested Imoen.

Xan looked genuinely puzzled. "Nice? I was merely trying to save her some pain later on. See it as you will."

Imoen frowned and looked as though she didn't quite know what had just happened, but Willow swallowed and took a deep breath before responding, "Whatcha wanna talk about, Xan?"

"I would like to propose that I get a ride on a cart up to Beregost, where I can delay this Tranzig in whatever endeavors he has planned; that way I will be fulfilling my own duty in investigating the cause of this iron crisis and helping you, the more successful although undoubtedly shorter-lived, in finding a solution to it. If you ever do before your untimely and probably very violent end, that is."

"So you're gonna hitch a ride on a cart and go talk up this Tranzig 'til we get there?" asked Imoen.

"Well, if you want to put it that way, yes." Xan nodded.

"You are not really in any condition to travel," Jaheira reminded him. "The weeks in the dark surely have not left you with much strength."

"(I doubt he had much to begin with; mental or physical.)" muttered Edwin.

Xan shook his head. "Irrelevant. If I had to fight it would be a disaster, but I can rest in some farmer's cart, and if we're attacked my spells should come in handy. I imagine anyone traveling on the roads today would be glad to have a mage."

"The question is, would they be willing to put up with the personality that comes with the magic?" interjected Edwin to himself.

"But who's gonna teach me an' Garrick how to cast these spells?" cried Imoen, waving the scrolls she had gotten in Mulahey's cave.

Edwin saw them and said, "Aha! So that's where they went, you little thief! (She will regret keeping me from more knowledge when a hobgoblin is bearing down on her and I have no more spells.)"

Imoen stuck her tongue out at him.

Xan sighed and said, "I was never going to teach you in the first place. Use what you have, girl." He gestured dismissively at Edwin, who looked insulted.

Imoen looked at Edwin as if for the first time. "Hey, he's right," she said in awe. "You're a wizard, Eddie!"

"Oh, really? What gave you that idea? Was it the beard? The robes? The fact that my fingers spew magical energy every time there is a fight? (If the girl can't even recognize a wizard how will she be one?)"

Imoen shook her head, looking amused. "Sorry, Eddie, it's just… kinda hard to take you seriously…"

Edwin's mouth gaped and he squawked indignantly (but incoherently) for a few minutes. Under cover of Edwin's outrage, Willow looked at Xan and said, "Good plan. I almost want to go with you." Xan quirked an eyebrow and managed to look commiserating.

* * *

After breakfast, they spent some time re-reading the letters they had found in Mulahey's cave. The first raised more questions than it gave answers.

_My servant Mulahey,_

_I have sent you the kobolds and mineral poison that you require. Your task is to poison any iron ore that leaves this mine. Don't reveal your presence to the miners or you will find yourself swamped by soldiers from the local Amnish garrison. My superiors have recently hired on the services of the Black talon mercenaries and the Chill. With these soldiers at my disposal, I should be able to destroy any iron caravans entering the region from the south and east. I don't want to deal with iron coming from the Nashkel mines so don't fail in your duty. _

_Tazok_

The second did much the same.

_My servant Mulahey,_

_Your progress in disrupting the flow of iron ore does not go as well as it should. How stupid can you be to allow your kobolds to murder the miners?! With your presence revealed you should be wary of enemies sent to stop your operation. Your task is a very simple one; if you continue to show that you can't do the job, you will be replaced. I will not send the kobolds you have requested as I need all the troops I possess to stop the flow of iron into this region. With this message I have sent more of the mineral poison that you require. If you have any problems then send a message to my new contact in Beregost. His name is Tranzig, and he'll be staying at Feldepost's inn._

_Tazok_

Xan peered at the bottles of green liquid they had collected with the letters and sighed heavily. "I have no idea what this is. If I could convince them to let me bring it to Evereska, the Greycloaks could analyze it. But, of course, by the time that was done and I had returned, it's likely the economy would have collapsed and the countryside been destroyed by rampaging barbarians. We're all doomed."

Jaheira gave him a bemused look and said, "We'll simply have to see what Mayor Ghastkill has to say about it."

While she and Khalid went off to report their findings to Ghastkill and to collect the reward, the others packed their possessions and readied their weapons. Everyone was amused to see that Imoen had started in on the begging with Edwin.

"C'moooon, Eddie, puh-leeeease can you teach us magic?" she attempted. Then she tried, "I'll bet if Xan had enough _time_ he would teach us." And when nothing else worked, she attempted what Willow liked to call "her patented Puppy-Dog Eyes."

Edwin merely blinked at her as she stared furtively at him. "Is this supposed to convince me?"

"Yes," said Willow. She grinned. "You get used to it, eventually.

"Oh, joy," said Edwin, rolling his eyes and looking as though he regretted living almost as much as Xan did.  


* * *

Soon they were on their way east, having left Xan to find a way to Beregost. Willow was in a far better mood than she had been in quite a while, perhaps even since Gorion died, and she and Imoen made it known to everyone that there was no ruining this fine day. They stopped every few feet to play silly, childish games like, "red hands" and "punch-you, punch-me." They sang bawdy songs, talked in the secret language they had made up as children, and generally made very little progress at all.

Finally, when they were only over the bridge on the other side of town, Jaheira turned around and yelled at them in no uncertain terms that if they didn't hurry up the party would simply leave them there. They obliged by hurrying their pace a little.

"Oo-yay ink-thay ey-thay eally-ray ood-way?" asked Willow as they marched across a field.

Imoen tried to answer, failed, dropped the kid-language, and said, "Who knows? Jaheira's a pretty hard taskmaster sometimes."

"I guess we're lucky she even gave us a warning," replied Willow, stepping over a large rock. It was a surprisingly unkempt field.

"Hah, lucky!" exclaimed Imoen, walking backwards over the rocky soil. "You'll always be lucky when I'm around! I'm the luckiest little bufflehead y'all have ever—whoa!"

Willow laughed as Imoen tripped spectacularly, flying backward and into the dirt, where she remained in the pose of one who cannot believe what has just happened. Finally, her expression narrowed to a pout and she said, "'S'not funny," in sulky tones. She leaned back onto her hands, sinking her fingers into the dirt.

Her friend stopped laughing and resorted to grinning. Looking down, she stopped doing even that in favor of a confused look. "Hey, lookit what you tripped on."

Willow dug at the strange object as the rest of the group came over from across the field. Imoen joined in and soon they had a very green, very complicated contraption in their hands. It seemed to consist of lots of strange plates and some leather straps.

"I… I think it's a suit of armor," said Willow.

"But it's green!" said Imoen.

"G-green?" asked Khalid, intrigued. "Thunderhammer S-smithy in Beregost has s-some g-green armor. It's made of ankheg shells." He crouched down to examine the armor, and soon nodded. "It is the very same! Th-this is very valuable—light but providing superior protection."

Willow grinned at Imoen. "Why, Immy, you really _are_ the luckiest little bufflehead we've ever seen!"

Imoen looked bewildered, but flattered.

* * *

They traveled further into the mountains, the younger and less hardened Imoen, Garrick, and Willow beginning to pant as the ground rose up and the air grew slightly thinner. It was a beautiful area, especially now at the beginning of fall, when the leaves were just turning a golden color and the sunlight slanted across the landscape in that long way it managed to do every year at that time. Willow and Imoen, growing up in Candlekeep, had never really known what it was supposed to look like during autumn, since they lived on the coast where it was a maritime climate, and therefore more inclined towards rain than anything else. But they both very quickly developed an appreciation for the new, earthy colors and crisp air.

They traveled until almost sundown, then made camp near a mountain lake that lay still as glass under the clear blue sky, just beginning to turn red as the sun began its descent. They set up camp, Edwin grumbling all the while about "menial chores unbefitting of someone of his stature," and then were free to relax. Willow and Imoen sat on a log beside the lake, dipping their toes in the cool water and giggling about nothing in particular. Edwin stuck his nose in a book and didn't emerge again until dinner. It was Willow's turn to cook.

Everyone was understandably apprehensive about this, just on general principle. She ladled soup from a small cooking pot into their metal dishes and handed them out, then got some for herself. She looked around to see that no one had made a move to eat.

"Well, come on!" she said, though she didn't get a spoonful for herself just yet.

Minsc dug in cheerfully, spooning a huge serving into his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. He nodded in approval, to which Willow beamed.

Edwin, who was not about to trust Minsc's taste in food but was, after all, quite hungry, dipped his spoon in. It emerged with what looked like pieces of chicken in it. He prepared himself, then took a bite. Everyone watched in earnest.

He chewed. He frowned at his spoon. He took another bite. Then he said, in somewhat disappointed tones, "This is delicious."

Willow's eyes widened and she exchanged incredulous looks with Imoen, who then proceeded to eat her fill. Khalid looked as though he was also enjoying the meal, and Jaheira was looking at Willow as though this was the first time she had seen her.

"It seems we have found at least one reason to keep you around," said Edwin, wiping at his beard.

"Boo approves, too, though it seems to have burnt his little tongue," Minsc said. Boo was wiping frantically at his mouth in the way animals do after eating something unpleasant.

"How'd ya do it? You've never even cooked before!" Imoen slurped more of her soup.

Willow shrugged as she swallowed her own spoonful. "I dunno. I found a lemon in your pack and just figured I might as well put it in… then I added some other stuff and it just sort of came together."

"Wait a minute, I was saving that lemon for later!" Imoen pouted.

"Come on, you know you just stole it from the store because you could," replied Willow, to which Imoen shrugged and nodded. "I took back that ring you picked off me, too, by the way," Willow added.

Imoen grinned and said, "Thought you'd never notice it was gone."

After dinner Imoen washed the dishes with much grumbling and groaning and Willow moved to sit with Minsc, who was giving Boo some nuts. Minsc smiled at her as she sat down next to him.

"So, Minsc," she said. He looked expectantly at her. "You're a ranger, you say?"

"Yes indeed, little Willow, Minsc is trained in the protection of the wild! Boo is learned in a similar way, although he tells me he is trained in the protection of the universe, not just the wild. Minsc is not sure what the universe is, but it sounds big."

"Sounds big to me, too. Say, Minsc… would you be willing to teach me all this rangering stuff?"

Minsc looked surprised, but nodded heartily. "Minsc would be glad to help a future ranger! Minsc can teach little Willow all sorts of things, like where the wild geese go when they fly away in the winter and what nuts to feed to hamsters!"

Willow smiled and said, "Sounds good to me!"

Minsc looked troubled for a moment. "Minsc cannot teach you the art of sneaking up on animals, though, Minsc is afraid. Minsc is far too large to be giving stealth lessons. 'Stealth' is Boo's word," he added, scratching the hamster under the chin.

"Er, is it compulsory?" asked Willow. Minsc looked bewildered, leaned towards Boo, and listened. His face lit up with understanding and he nodded.

"It is very important for a ranger to be able to sneak, at least for most rangers," he said. "It helps if you want to sneak up on an animal, to subdue it, to help it! Minsc does not need to sneak because he is huge and scary! Everyone is subdued when he is around!" He looked her up and down. "Eh, but little Willow may want to learn it. Perhaps the nice elf Kivan can teach you."

Willow looked over to Kivan, who was sitting with his back against a tree-trunk looking up at the sky, which was beginning to be dotted with stars. "Well, I suppose I have to start speaking to him again sometime soon, anyway," she said. "Tell ya what, Minsc, let's start the rangering lessons in the morning and I'll talk to Kivan about being sneaky." She got up, clapped Minsc on the shoulder, and walked in Kivan's direction. Minsc whispered something to Boo, who nosed his human's ear as he turned to listen.

* * *

Montaron had a plan.

This Tranzig fellow was important. And this Tazok was even more so. He suspected that all of this was much bigger than even the half-wits he was following thought it was. And so, he was faced with a decision: follow Willow and her group, and miss blackmailing Tranzig into telling him where Tazok was, or follow the elf, and miss anything the do-gooders got up to.

"What ye think?" he asked Xzar, in a rare gesture of teamwork.

Xzar looked up from the bird entrails he had been examining and stared blankly. Then he looked back down again, plucking a feather from between his teeth.

"Yeh, though' so," muttered Montaron. It seemed he would have to make the decision himself. Well, that was nothing new.

* * *

Willow walked over to Kivan, who continued to stare upward. She sat next to him, on the other side of the tree, and also looked up. Finally she said, "Let's let bygones be bygones."

Kivan was silent for a moment before he said, "Fair enough."

Willow moved her gaze downward to look at the lake. Jaheira and Khalid were silhouetted against the surface of the water. Jaheira's head was on Khalid's shoulder and Willow thought they must be the picture of peace.

"Can you teach me to sneak?" she finally asked.

Kivan sounded confused when he answered, "What?"

"You know, how to be stealthy," she replied.

"I am… not fit to be anyone's tutor," he finally answered.

"Come on, all I wanna know is how to make sure no one notices me. It's not that hard, is it? You must've learned it from your father, like you said, right?" She moved around so she was sitting in front of him.

He stared at her for a moment before he reached for his pack. He looted around in it for a moment before he pulled out a package wrapped in leather. He handed it to Willow, who took it.

"Open it," he commanded.

Willow did. Inside was a set of clothing, a shirt and a pair of pants, embroidered with tiny jingle-bells all over.

"This is how my father taught me," said Kivan. "He said that when I could walk in those without making a sound, I could be considered a master of hiding in the forest. Those are all I have left of him now."

Willow could barely unfold them without making enough noise to wake the dead. She looked at him apprehensively.

"We'll start tomorrow," he said.


	10. Death and Mourning

The next few days were filled with instruction for Willow.

Minsc was a surprisingly good teacher; patient, kind, and always willing to explain things in more detail if asked. He taught Willow what kinds of herbs were poisonous and what kinds were healing; he taught her what kind of animals had made any tracks they came across; he identified trees for her and taught her how to heal injured animals. Jaheira filled in any blanks in Minsc's repertoire, and taught different methods for things he had already gone over.

Her lessons in stealth, by contrast, seemed to be mostly trying to move without making more noise than a flatulent hippo. Kivan also taught her how to walk lightly so she didn't crack sticks beneath her feet and what to do if you had to cross a long expanse of open ground. Imoen silently joined in on the lessons and was infinitely better at it, though to be fair she didn't have to wear the bell-clothes.

The strange attire was helping Willow learn twice as fast as she usually would, though, she was sure. Soon she could step through a forest without making too much noise, though she still jingled a bit.

On their third day in the mountains, they encountered a frightened man who ran up to them, arms flailing, screaming at the top of his lungs. His attire was rich enough that Willow figured him to be a noble, and his girlish screams were enough to confirm this notion.

"B-b-bear!" he screeched as he leaped the rest of the way off the wooden bridge he had been running across. "Kill it, kill it! Agh!"

"(Pathetic.) What's in it for us?" asked Edwin.

"I—I don't know, but something good, just don't let it hurt me!" The noble cowered, and Jaheira rolled her eyes.

A large, white bear came ambling across the bridge. The nobleman yelped and hid behind Edwin, who irritably batted him away. The man then retreated behind Minsc, who didn't notice.

The bear stopped at the end of the bridge and roared at them (it was more like a very loud, groaning growl). Droplets of bear spit flew as it continued posturing.

Jaheira marched up to it and stood, one hand on her hip, the other clutching Silke's silvery staff. The bear roared louder. Jaheira rapped it smartly on the nose with the staff.

The bear was astonished. It collapsed onto its haunches and stared at her.

"You should be ashamed," she told it in disapproving tones.

The bear hung its head, looking abashed.

"Now, unless they disturb you, I don't want you going after anyone else," Jaheira said. "Or I _will_ hear about it."

The bear licked at her hand in supplication, and she gave it a scratch behind one ear before it lumbered off.

Jaheira turned around to see Khalid beaming at her and the rest of the group looking thunderstruck. She shrugged and moved to stand beside Khalid again.

The nobleman leaped out from behind Minsc. "Oh, thank you ever so much! I was just passing by a cave when that huge beast started after me!"

"What are you doing out here, anyway?' asked Imoen.

The man blushed. "I was, well, I was trying to be an adventurer. I did have a sword, but I dropped it while I was running from the bear… I'll surely never do that again."

"(He is lucky to have made it this far.) And perhaps you will reward us for our timely intervention?" queried Edwin.

The noble looked bewildered for a moment before he said, "Aha!" and pulled his boots off. He presented them to Jaheira, who raised an eyebrow.

"They're magical, you see. I had hoped to use them in my adventuring, but… they're a rather small size. My feet are killing me."

"What's your name?" asked Imoen.

"Jared. I had been heading south to the gnoll stronghold—I had heard that there was a lovely maiden to be rescued there!"

Minsc's ears perked up. "Maiden? Could this be Minsc's sweet Dynaheir?"

"I don't know her name, all I know is that she was brought there by the gnolls some days ago. A mage in Beregost told me, he scried it for me. Although come to think of it, he seemed a rather unpleasant fellow, perhaps he was merely playing a trick on me." Jared sighed.

"What was this mage's name?" asked Willow.

"Hmm? Oh, Tranzig, I believe."

The party exchanged knowing glances. Jared noticed but didn't comment.

"Well, you'd better get back to Beregost, then," said Willow. "Thanks for the boots."

"Thank you for the rescue! I'll tell anyone I know about… er, what's your name?" He peered at Jaheira.

"Jaheira." She introduced the rest of the group.

"I'll tell anyone I know about Jaheira and her companions! Goodbye now!" Jared grinned at them and started off.

"This Tranzig's a mean'un," said Imoen as they began walking again. Everyone nodded.

* * *

They saw the huge but crumbling fortress long before they reached the bridge over the chasm surrounding it. Here they encountered a problem.

"Ack! (Oh no, long way down, argh.)" Edwin stopped and backed away several paces as they reached the bridge.

Everyone turned to look at him. "What was that, Eddie?" asked Willow, a concerned look on her face.

"Nothing. Nothing. All of you, er… go on ahead. I will… keep watch. (Don't look at the edge, Edwin, don't look at the edge! Gah! You looked at the edge!)" He seemed to have broken out in a cold sweat.

The corner of Willow's mouth started creeping up. "You're afraid of heights?" she asked. She couldn't help the amused hint to her voice.

"I am not afraid of heights!" Edwin said indignantly. "They just… make me nervous. (Nervous enough to cause vertigo and a strange desire to back away very quickly and kiss stable land like I haven't seen it for years.)"

"Well, Eddie, you know the guy that stays behind to keep watch is always the first one to go, right?" asked Imoen, also smiling.

"That's right, it's a common plot device," added Garrick, catching on to the joke.

"And we wouldn't want to come back to your torn and mutilated corpse, Eddie," Willow joined in. "That would be a very unpleasant discovery."

"(I am surprised you would care at all.) I can take care of myself," he said, backing away still more so that a branch poked him in the back and he jumped almost a foot in the air.

"Look, Eddie, I'll hold your hand if I have to but you might as well come on up. I have a feeling we'll be here for a while," said Willow. She reached out for the wizard, but he evaded her grasp.

"Edwin," she said warningly, and for once her voice held a note of genuinely scary irritation.

He shook his head obstinately and she made a grab for him. Several minutes of wrestling ensued, in which no one seemed to want to intervene. They only stopped when there was ominous creaking on the bridge and two very large figures appeared on it.

Willow looked up from where she'd been trying to push Edwin onto the bridge. In front of her was a large half-ogre. Behind him on the bridge was another.

"Mmm," he grunted. "You pay toll?"

Edwin stood up from where he had dug his heels into the ground and straightened his robes, obscuring Willow from view. "Ahem," he said. "We were not aware that there was a toll on this bridge."

"There be toll, and big one! Uh… hundred gold!" The half-ogre nodded and looked pleased with himself, and his partner, who looked even stupider, grinned hugely, revealing many missing teeth.

"And under whose authority do you collect this toll?" inquired Edwin politely.

"Er… big muscles?" hazarded the half-ogre.

"As I suspected," said Edwin smoothly. "I would like to point out that technically you have no legal right to be here and therefore we are not required to pay your toll."

The creatures debated this for a few moments, scratching their heads. At last, they seemed to come to a decision. "Then me guess you die, little red man!" roared the first half-ogre, and swung a fist.

Willow got out of the way only just soon enough to avoid being crushed by Edwin, who flew backwards, landed in the dirt, clutched his nose, and shouted, "My face! My beautiful face!"

Minsc roared back and leapt at the creatures, startling even Jaheira as she knelt next to Edwin. A few huge slashes of Minsc's sword and the half-ogres lay dead on the bridge. Willow didn't even have time to draw her own swords.

Willow searched the bodies for anything useful as Jaheira molded Edwin's broken nose back into what mostly resembled its original shape. Edwin whimpered pitifully as she healed it.

Willow approached, holding a small bag of coins and a pair of gauntlets made of worked leather. They were very impressive, with gold embossing on the dark brown of the leather, and she could feel them radiating the same sort of magical feeling she had come to recognize in her sword, though it was stronger in the gauntlets.

She handed them to Garrick, who looked at them with great interest, and kneeled down beside Edwin, who glared at her. "That was kinda stupid, Eddie," she pointed out.

Edwin tried to say something but winced.

"Got any spells that might help him with his height problem, Jaheira?" asked Willow.

Jaheira put the finishing touches on her healing spell in her head and considered while Edwin experimentally scrunched up his nose and flared his nostrils to check that it was entirely healed.

"Perhaps a Resist Fear chant might help him," she said.

"Lay it on him," said Willow, and listened as Jaheira put the spell on Edwin, who slowly lost his vaguely panicked look. His chest puffed out, he stood up straighter, and he looked for all the world as if his IQ had dropped at least fifty points.

"I… I feel invincible!" he said.

Willow and Imoen exchanged amused glances and they started up the mountain to the gnoll stronghold. Edwin had no trouble with the bridge.

* * *

Tens of dead gnolls later, they reached the highest part of the fortress.

Many pits had been arranged in the stonework. Most were empty except for one. Looking into it, Willow saw a faint patch of purple on an otherwise motionless figure surrounded by skeletons and other carnage. It seemed the gnolls had cut down on their rare housework by confining prisoners to only one of the pits.

Willow, Jaheira, and Khalid managed to carry the woman up the set of tree-trunk steps into the sunlight. Her head lolled to one side as they set her gently on the stone, and Jaheira declared that she still had a pulse, though very weak.

Minsc came back from exploring another part of the ruin with Imoen and Garrick. At seeing the pile of clothing and woman, he ran forward, shouting, "Dynaheir!"

He knelt beside Dynaheir and reached out to gently take her head in his hands. Her eyes fluttered open very slowly.

"Minsc," she said, with such relief that even Edwin almost felt sorry for her.

* * *

They camped right there at the top of the fortress. Dynaheir served as the point around which the whole camp orbited, though Khalid and the others often patrolled the ruin, making sure any remaining gnolls were still scared enough of them that they didn't attack the camp.

Minsc left Dynaheir's side for only moments at a time, and rarely. Khalid spent much of his time cleaning the ankheg armor and repairing it, explaining each step to Willow as she watched. Occasionally Willow looked up to see Minsc conversing quietly with Dynaheir, nodding occasionally and always looking sad.

Dynaheir slept much of the time, but when she woke Minsc always moved quickly to her side. He was the one who fed her and lifted her head so that she could drink. Her wracking coughs often filled the night and when she took her hand away after a particularly violent episode of coughing it was almost always flecked with blood.

Jaheira went out and gathered many herbs and set about making countless remedies, though none of them seemed to work. Every night she went to her bedroll exhausted and awoke early the next day to repeat the process.

"I wish I could do something," she admitted to Khalid one day. "She's caught so many different diseases from the filthy conditions she was in that I can't treat any of them separately, and none of the medicines I make can treat them all at the same time."

Only Khalid knew her well enough to see the pain lurking behind her eyes, and he squeezed her hand tightly and smiled sadly at her. Jaheira sniffed and squeezed back and went to try something else.

* * *

Willow and Imoen, for the most part, tried to stay out of everyone's way. They both felt completely out of their depth and instead spent much of their time exploring the ruins, with Kivan along as a sort of bodyguard. Garrick sometimes accompanied them, but often he stayed behind and picked out tunes to amuse and distract Dynaheir.

Kivan had been seeming at least slightly more cheerful after he had begun instructing Willow, but as soon as they had found Dynaheir, any cheer had fluttered away on the breeze again.

"Breathe through your mouth, not your nose," he said to Willow as she tried one day to sneak up on him while he was sitting on a crumbling parapet. She stopped, disappointed, then tried breathing through her mouth.

"I feel like an idiot," she said after a moment.

"But you make less noise," he pointed out, which was true.

She sat down next to him and dangled her legs over the side. Far below them the chasm stretched around the fortress and the river at the bottom of it rushed in its course south to the sea. Once Jaheira's spell had worn off, Edwin had begun spending all of his time as far away from the edge of the platform as he possibly could.

"She reminds me of Deheriana," Kivan finally said after a long time spent in silence.

Willow was shocked that he was actually volunteering information willingly and found she didn't know how to respond.

"Or rather, her situation reminds me of Deheriana," continued Kivan through Willow's silence. "My wife was dying when I found her, all those years ago. I could do nothing to save her."

Willow still didn't know what to say.

"I wish I could do something for Dynaheir but I still lack the skill to heal. The one gift that could help me and Sheverash doesn't see fit to bestow it on me."

Willow had a few choice thoughts on what she thought did and did not make sense for a god of vengeance, and she rather thought healing was not something she would expect to receive from one. But instead she said, "I don't think it would help anyway. Jaheira's spells haven't."

"And you have tried on your own?" guessed Kivan.

Willow nodded. In the night she had crawled over to Dynaheir's side and laid her hands on her, hoping the healing hadn't been a one-time occurrence. She hadn't wanted to give Minsc false hope; and it would have been false. Willow had awoken what she thought were moments later and gone back to her bedroll with a fierce headache and a feeling of being drained.

"We can only hope she is no longer in pain soon, then," said Kivan.

* * *

On the third day they had been there, at sunset, Dynaheir said to Minsc, "I wouldst speak with Edwin."

Minsc gave her a shocked look and said, "But the evil Red Wizard would have had you dead!"

"And I would have had him dead, as well," admitted Dynaheir. "But being on thy deathbed, so to speak, encourages thee to reorganize thy priorities."

"Minsc shall reorganize them for his witch! And Boo has offered to alphabetize them, too!"

Dynaheir chuckled, which quickly turned into a desperate hacking. Minsc hastily poured some cool water down her throat and waited for her to calm.

"Nevertheless, I wouldst ask you to fetch him, Minsc. Please," she added, a plaintive note in her voice that Minsc was not accustomed to. He couldn't bear to hear it, and so stood up, looking around for the Red Wizard.

He found him sitting on a block of stone near a rotting door hanging partway off its hinges. He was studying his spellbook. Edwin looked up as Minsc approached, and glared.

"My witch wishes to speak with you," said Minsc with as much dignity as he could muster when he was feeling utterly downtrodden.

"Tell her to speak to herself, I am sure she considers that the most stimulating form of conversation," said Edwin, going back to his spellbook.

Minsc almost snarled before he forced himself to calm down. He picked Edwin up by the hood of his robes as politely as possible and, ignoring Edwin's protests and gurgles, carried him over to set him down again beside Dynaheir.

Dynaheir looked up at Edwin, panting and frantically smoothing his robes, short brown hair mussed beyond recognition. "Please, sit down, Edwin," she said in an ironic voice.

Minsc moved to sit beside the fire, far enough away that they could talk in private but close enough to kill Edwin in as painful a way as possible should he try anything. No, amended Edwin in his thoughts, he would likely have the gall to make it a quick and easy death.

Edwin, fearing the retribution of the huge hands which were now throwing more kindling on the fire, sat down on another stone block near Dynaheir. He glared down at her, looking sullen.

Dynaheir fingered the blankets draped over her for a moment, looking thoughtful, before she said, "Thou hast the same goal as I once had, Edwin."

Edwin remained silent.

"I am told her name is Willow. A pretty name, really. If a bit untruthful."

Edwin snorted.

"A pretty name to match a pretty face. Almost... divine," Dynaheir added, and felt a measure of satisfaction when Edwin's eyes widened imperceptibly. "I know not what thou hast seen, Edwin, but I have seen many things also."

"Divination is not fit to be called magic," Edwin said, recovering quickly.

"No, it should not be called magic," Dynaheir agreed. "For what is divination but only opening thyself to what should be obvious? Humanity and the other races strive so much for the future when it is all around them, just waiting to be seen."

When Edwin again didn't respond she said, "We once had the same goal, thee and me—but clearly, I shall soon not be fit to pursue anything. I wouldst speak to you of your own goal, then.

"When I was first thrown into yon pit, I swore to myself that, should I ever get out, and should I ever encounter my quarry, I would treat her as I would treat anyone."

Edwin snorted again and Dynaheir actually blushed, though it was hard to see on her dusky cheeks.

"I understand thy attitude," she said. "I understand now that _my_ attitude has been… less than commendable.

"After several days in the pit with only whatever rotting meat the gnolls remembered to throw down to me, I again swore to myself that should I ever get out again, I would find Willow and… study her, yes, but also try to befriend her. Her fate works against her in every way possible. I have seen it."

"Just as you saw your own death?" Edwin asked in his most sarcastic tones possible, and then found himself strangely stricken when she nodded, looking deadly serious.

"I wouldst ask thee something, Edwin. I wouldst ask that thee take on my own oath. I wouldst ask thee to swear to treat Willow only as a human being, no more, no less. Not as some creature to be studied. Or as some power to be exploited. Our countries war, Edwin, constantly; but why should we? If things had been different; if I had been born Thayvian or thee Rashemi, we could even have been friends. I can see that thou art not as thou wouldst like people to think, Edwin. I could not see it before, blinded as I was by our own petty rivalry."

Edwin's mouth narrowed to a thin line.

"I care not if thee swears it to me or thyself, Edwin," Dynaheir said, sounding tired. "Only keep it in thy mind."

Minsc appeared behind Edwin to tower menacingly as he heard Dynaheir yawn weakly. Edwin stood stiffly, looked down at Dynaheir one last time, and strode back to his place.

The ranger took his seat beside Dynaheir, who smiled up at him and said, "I thank thee, Minsc. For everything."

Minsc blinked back tears and nodded, stirring a small bowl of porridge to feed her.

* * *

The next morning, Minsc rose from his bedroll before anyone else awoke. Kivan was sitting a short distance away, staring out at the sunrise which was a particularly magnificent sight from this height. Minsc walked over to shake gently at Dynaheir, thinking to wake her so she could eat her breakfast.

"Dynaheir, the sun rises just for you!" he said cheerfully in the lowest tones he could manage so as not to wake the others.

Dynaheir did not immediately wake. He shook her shoulder again. "Dynaheir? Boo wishes to ask you something."

"… Dynaheir?"

* * *

They buried Dynaheir in the afternoon, when the sun was at its highest point. Willow, Khalid, and Kivan had spent most of the morning digging a shallow grave using the gnolls' discarded weapons as tools. Jaheira had helped a very quiet Minsc prepare Dynaheir's body for burial, and Imoen and Garrick had disappeared somewhere.

Edwin merely sat on his stone block, reading a book. A close observer would have noticed that, even though he was staring at the book with intense concentration, he never turned a page and his eyes did not move as though he were reading.

Willow, throwing aside a sword that had broken under the pressure of digging, was filled with a desperate longing to have been able to do this for Gorion; a proper burial and ceremony, instead of taking the gold from his pocket and leaving him in the middle of a barren clearing.

Now Kivan and Khalid carefully lowered Dynaheir, wrapped in Minsc's cloak, into the grave. Jaheira spoke a druidic rite of passage to the afterlife, and Minsc stared at the grave without really seeing it. Edwin sat against a tree trunk a distance away, not paying attention to the funeral, mostly for the look of the thing but also to wait out the rest of the Resist Fear chant Jaheira had had to put on him to get him down from the fortress. It was making his heart race and his head hurt and he felt guilty and empty and angry and many other things at the same time, though he convinced himself it was just a side-effect to the spell.

Imoen and Garrick had arrived just before Jaheira started talking, having found some flowers somewhere to drop in with the body. That done, Imoen turned and hugged Minsc around the waist and tried to hold back her sniffles.

Everyone else sat in silence while Willow and Khalid filled in the grave, then they started back to Nashkel.

Stopping for lunch, Minsc sat on a rock away from the group with his head in his hands and didn't eat anything. Willow sat beside him and put her hand on his shoulder and offered him an apple, but he refused to eat it. She stayed beside him and after a while Boo wriggled himself under her palm and looked up at her, nose twitching, as if to say, "Just give him some time, he'll be alright."


	11. Assassins and Poetry

**Disclaimer:** The verse Nimbul uses in this chapter does not belong to me. They're lyrics from the song **O Death**. You can hear it on the **O Brother, Where Art Thou?** soundtrack, sung by Ralph Stanley.

* * *

It seemed the mayor had planned on a celebration for the heroes who had saved their mine, but they had disappeared before he had even had time to propose the idea. Instead, the villagers breathed a sigh of relief and proceeded to flood the inn and the pub with their merrymaking.

He looked again at the letter. It was an untidy scrawl; Tazok no doubt had trouble holding a quill in his huge paws. He'd managed to decipher it fairly quickly, however:

_Nimbul,_

_The money you have received from Tranzig should cover your usual fee. Your assignment is a difficult one, but I'm sure that you are up to the task. There is a group of mercenaries who should be coming through Nashkel in the next few days. They are led by a whelp named Willow. You are to kill Willow, and all that travel with her. I warn you; they might not look like much, but they are very dangerous. Good hunting!_

_Tazok_

He had no idea how Tazok had convinced him that this particular assignment would be a challenge. The girl was no bigger than a twig, and looked as though she would break like one.

That was how he would do it. It would be the only satisfying thing about the venture. The feel of the sharp _snap_ as her dainty bones were crushed under his hands...

But there was no time to daydream. He had to prepare a suitable trap. Nimbul was _always_ prepared.

* * *

They neared Nashkel after dark and Willow suggested that she and Kivan scout ahead in case any bandits were lurking in the woods near town. The others agreed and she and the ranger walked ahead, Willow noting with vague satisfaction in the back of her head that she was almost as quiet as Kivan without the bell-clothes on.

After a while she became aware that ahead of her was a faint sparkle. As she drew closer she saw that it was a campfire. It was a moonless night and she could barely see her hand in front of her face, though the fire was nearly blinding. As they drew even closer, they saw a man sitting beside it, staring into the flames.

She and Kivan exchanged glances as they stopped in the trees outside the circle of light. About to turn back, Willow stopped when the man by the fire opened his mouth. He seemed to be reciting verse. "What is this that I cannot see, with ice cold hands taking hold of me?" echoed around the clearing. Willow watched as he poked at the fire with a stick and continued muttering to himself.

Kivan tugged at Willow's sleeve, but she stepped forward into the firelight.

"I am death, none can excel. I will open the door to heaven or hell." The man whistled a little, as though he were trying to fit the words to music.

"You've a fine way of attracting attention to yourself," remarked Willow as he finished.

"I could say the same for you," he replied, and Willow couldn't help but shiver at the empty voice. He stood up. He was dressed all in black and wore two short swords at his belt, almost a mirror of Willow. He was much taller than her and the firelight made his face look skull-like.

Willow began drawing her swords just as he started saying, "I am Death come for thee." He looked at her swords, the magical one glinting unnaturally in the firelight, and added, "Surrender, and thy passage shall be… quicker."

Kivan answered for her by leaping from the shadows onto the black-clad assassin, brandishing his spear. A moment later and Kivan was stumbling back, clutching at his arm, and the assassin was chanting a spell as Willow hurried over to help Kivan.

She stepped back just in time as the spell hit Kivan and froze him, mid-yell. Even his eyes didn't move.

"Hah! Pathetic," exulted the assassin. "Why _Nimbul_ has been chosen to rid your betters of your mosquito-like trouble-making, I have no idea." Nimbul began singing again, and Willow felt snatches of fear rise up in her mind like snakes ready to strike.

"O, Death, someone would pray, could you wait to call me another day?" he grinned like a skull as he began striking with the swords. Willow barely brought up her own to block. "The children prayed, the preacher preached." He spun dramatically to avoid a wobbly riposte. "Time and mercy is out of your reach."

Nimbul was much faster than Willow, and more skilled. She was reduced to blocking but soon had dozens of nicks and scratches. It was as if Nimbul were playing with her.

"I will fix your feet 'til you can't walk, I will lock your jaw 'til you can't talk. I will close your eyes so you can't see this very air-- come and go with me."

Willow swung wildly and hit Nimbul in the jaw with the hilt of one sword, then disarmed one of his hands while he was recovering. She kicked his sword away to where he couldn't reach it. He smiled at her, which filled her with dread. Then he effortlessly used the same disarming tactic on her. The surprise was too much. He did the same to her other hand as she gaped at him. She was left with no weapon at all.

Then he did something that astonished her. He threw his own sword away and began advancing on her.

"I am Death, I come to take the soul. Leave the body and leave it cold. To draw up the flesh off of the frame, dirt and worm both have a claim."

He pounced, and Willow was knocked off her feet. Nimbul straddled her and grabbed her around the neck with long fingers which tightened immediately. Her legs kicked under him as she tried to pull his fingers away but he was too strong.

"I do so enjoy strangling," he said. "If you pay careful attention you can feel the exact moment when the soul leaves the body. You just can't get that simply swinging a sword about, can you?" he added, almost conversationally.

Willow gurgled at him. The fingers were tightening slowly, seemingly taking their time. He smiled again, and her vision wobbled. She grabbed him about the wrists and tried to pull, but his hold was well-established. The smile widened and he laughed, a hollow sound.

"Ah, but where are my manners? I should tell you what I plan to do with your friends once I'm finished with you! I had planned something with hot pokers but I'm afraid that's a bit messy and takes more time than I really have." His fingers tightened yet more and Willow could feel that her strength was rapidly slipping away. "So I thought perhaps I would wait until they find you here and then pick them off one by one as they're distracted weeping over your pitiful corpse. If they bother to weep."

His fingers tightened yet more and Willow gave up clawing at his fingers. Instead she reached upward and ripped at his face as much as she could, though he managed to avoid most of her swipes by pulling backward. He snarled, as though he'd expected her to simply lay there and die.

"Struggle if you must, dead one," he said. "I don't mind working a little harder for my coin." He closed his eyes and looked almost blissful. Willow was filled with loathing.

Her eyesight was going blurry around the edges. Desperately she grabbed again for his face. She caught him by the ear, almost like a mother would a child. Suddenly, she knew what to do. Her hand worked its way along to his jaw. The corner of his mouth quirked upward in a smirk. She made sure she had a good grip, reached up with her other hand, and then _wrenched_ with all her remaining strength.

There was a _crack_ under her fingers and Nimbul's eyes opened in horror before he slumped forward onto her, neck broken. For a moment her arms closed around him almost in an embrace before they slid to the ground, all strength gone from them.

_I didn't even need a sword_, she thought muzzily, before drifting into unconsciousness.

* * *

Edwin was standing on the bridge in Nashkel once again. Earlier, there had been a somewhat startling moment involving finding Willow lying under an assassin, but that had been taken care of. Right now, he was busily staring down into the water and not technically seeing it as he engaged in contemplation.

He had another moody look on his face. He had been contemplating Dynaheir, which rather explained the moodiness. His thoughts had gone thus:

_I should have killed her, dammit._

_Would I have even if I could?_

_I am Edwin Odesseiron! I let nothing impede my ambition!_

_Still, she was pathetic. It would hardly have been a laudable victory._

_I can see it now. I approach my superiors and say, "She's dead." And they say, "Fine job, Edwin, how did you do it?" And I reply, "Well, she just died, you see. I didn't have to do anything." And then they just… give me this _look.

_You're picking up too many colloquialisms, Edwin._

_Shut up, me, I'm trying to reason here._

_Well, _excuse_ you._

_Where was I?_

_Dirty looks._

_Right. But if I _had_ killed her, Willow would have killed me. Or kicked me out of the party. And then I wouldn't be able to continue studying her._

_Like a bug under one of those new magnifying doohickeys?_

_Yes, like that. Where did I learn "doohickey?"_

_Imoen, most likely. Or Willow._

_Ah, yes. Which brings me to the promise._

_Yes, let's get this over with._

_I shan't make it. I am Edwin Odesseiron, Master of Emotional Disentanglement. Sultan of Ambivalence. Chief of Belligerent (Temporary) Subservience. Show me any Bhaalspawn, male or female, and I will happily travel with him or her and not get the least bit attached. They are useful for attracting treasure. That's all. That's it. End of story._

_That's right, Edwin. Swords don't kill people, feelings kill people. Don't become a statistic! And don't make yourself beholden to some dead witch who suddenly decided she might as well clear up a few things before she died a horrible, painful death. Or however it felt._

_You're completely right. Of course, you are me, so how could you not be?_

He was interrupted in his slightly confusing train of thought when a young man walked up beside him and stared at him. He wouldn't go away. Edwin tried ignoring him, but he simply would not stop looking at him. Finally Edwin drew himself to his full height, looking as impressive as he could, and turned to glare down his nose at the boy.

The boy looked up at him and said, "Wow, those robes are really red! Are they silk? I hear adventurers really like silk. What is silk? I heard it comes out of some bug's bum. Is that true? I think that's icky. Really icky! What's your name? My name's Noober! What's your name? Is it Red? 'Cause that'd make a lot of sense. Right? Huh? Huh? Huh?"

Edwin calmly hit him on the head with his staff and stalked off.

* * *

Willow opened her eyes to stare at the fanciest ceiling she had ever seen.

It was stained glass and depicted a god (she assumed it was Helm, from the look of him), looking very regal and kingly and generally boring. He was sitting on a plain but big chair and staring into the distance, a pensive expression on his face.

Willow turned her head slightly to see Jaheira sitting in a chair by the bed she was in. She started to say something but Jaheira hushed her quickly.

"Your windpipe was almost crushed," explained the druid. "Between Nalin and I--" she nodded to a man praying at the nearby altar-- "we have repaired it, but no talking for at least a day."

Willow knitted her brows, which must have turned out to be quite eloquent, because Jaheira sighed and said, "Another assassin, as you know doubt noticed. Hired especially. By Tazok."

Willow sighed, making a rude noise with her lips as she exhaled.

"It seems we are becoming quite the fly in someone's ointment," Jaheira agreed. "Now rest."

She closed her eyes.

* * *

Nalin gave Willow one last examination before they transferred to the inn for a last night's rest before traveling north to Beregost. Willow found that she rather liked Nalin. He was soft-spoken and gentle, and did his best not to jar her throat too much while he felt her glands and various other medical things she wasn't entirely sure she understood. She still had bruises ringing her throat like some kind of ghastly necklace, but she didn't care as long as she was still breathing and would be able to talk when Jaheira finally permitted her.

Edwin met them outside the temple, looking smug about something, but didn't say anything as he led the way up the street to the inn. When they entered the inn Minsc sprang up and swept Willow into a bone-cracking bear-hug while Jaheira protested loudly that he was re-doing all the damage Nimbul had done.

"Minsc must never let little Willow out of his sight again! Another friend almost dead and Minsc so caught up in his grief he couldn't help! Minsc is very sorry."

He sniffed as he put her down and Willow gave him a mute pat on the shoulder and a smile. "She mustn't speak until later," Jaheira explained, and Minsc nodded and picked Willow up easily and carried her to a chair in the corner.

Willow rolled her eyes, trying to communicate something along the lines of "he aimed for my throat, not my legs; I can walk!" but Minsc wasn't paying attention and set her down and then pushed her into the chair.

"Minsc will get Willow some water!" he exclaimed, and went off to do so.

"We thought you were dead!" said Imoen, eyes wide, as she hugged Willow. Garrick patted her awkwardly on the shoulder.

"You certainly looked it," said Edwin, sitting across from her. "(Sprawled underneath that idiot assassin, bah!)"

"I sh-should have known not to let us get s-split up, not in these times," said Khalid sadly, taking Willow's hand. "You're g-getting to the point where you c-can take care of yourself, but…"

"These things happen," proclaimed Jaheira from the other side of the table, as if assassins regularly strangled young girls on the outskirts of town. Then again, maybe they did, and Willow just didn't know about it. It seemed there were a lot of things she didn't know.

Minsc came back and set a huge pitcher of water in front of Willow. He nodded towards it eagerly when she looked up at him, a questioning expression on her face. Resigned to making a bit of a mess, she picked up the pitcher and carefully drank a few mouthfuls.

"Kivan's not hurt," Imoen said, answering Willow's unspoken question. "I think his pride kinda stings, though."

"He is the more experienced; he should have been able to take care of the both of them," said Edwin in his most stern voice, which wasn't very stern at all but made a good effort. "(The girl goes and almost gets herself killed on his watch and all he can do is retreat to his room. Pfeh. Superiors should at least take responsibility for their idiocy. But then again, mine never do...)"

"I dunno if we should be so hard on him, Eddie…" began Imoen.

"Hard, schmard," replied Edwin, waving a hand vaguely. "There is a clear rule that the oldest shall lead; he should have been prepared."

Imoen sighed and gave up. Edwin looked disappointed. Willow gave the kind of embarrassed, twisted, half-smile, half-scowl that people who can't or won't talk tend to give. Jaheira saw it and suggested perhaps she should go rest.

Willow responded with another roll of her eyes. She'd rested enough lately.

"Go," commanded Jaheira, and Willow involuntarily stood up and started towards her room.

She met Kivan in the hallway. He ran into her, actually, but reached out to steady her as she reeled from the impact. He gripped her by the shoulders as he looked at her neck.

Willow, who did not really like close scrutiny, at least by Kivan, looked anywhere but at him. His grip on her shoulders was tight, though, and hard to ignore.

"I—er," attempted Kivan.

He tried again. "I'm sorry I could not help," he said. "I should have been able to help you fight him."

Willow smiled up at him and was silently glad that she wasn't allowed to talk.

Kivan reached up and ran a finger over a bruise and Willow was surprised to find that her breath caught in her throat and her knees wobbled. (Edwin, passing by, ever observant, scoffed under his breath. Willow didn't notice.)

She had thought her small crush on Kivan was gone, but perhaps it wasn't. Either way, she may as well keep it to herself, she decided.

"I have failed too many women in my time..." he muttered.

Yes, that decided it. No mentioning her strange attraction to him. With this bolster to her resolve, her knees locked more firmly in place and no longer felt as though they were going to give way beneath her.

Kivan looked like he was about to say something else, opened his mouth to speak, but instead turned on his heel and strode back to his room. Willow sighed, flinched as her throat twinged, and went into the room she and Imoen were to share.

Ten minutes later she got up from bed, unable to sleep. She paced. She remembered Nimbul and shuddered. She paced some more. Then she walked down the hall to knock on a door.

Edwin answered it. He had been trimming his beard. He looked at her in surprise, as did Kivan from the chair in the corner. (They hadn't dared let Minsc share a room with Edwin, and so Edwin was forced to endure Kivan's company, which Edwin was loathe to admit was little to no trouble at all. The elf was so quiet he barely even noticed his presence most of the time.)

Willow tried to mime that she wanted to borrow a piece of paper and a pen and some ink. It didn't work very well. Edwin looked puzzled.

She sighed and pushed past him into the room, and, to Edwin's vocal displeasure, began rummaging through the papers and journals and spellbooks on his desk until she came up with a blank piece of parchment, a rather blunt quill, and a bottle of ink. She absentmindedly slapped Edwin on the back and gave him a thumbs-up in thanks as she passed by him. Edwin shut the door and wondered what in the hells had just happened.

Willow returned to her room and got to work.

* * *

The next morning Willow emerged into the common room looking disgustingly chipper and moved to join the rest of the group at their customary table. Edwin was reading a book, Garrick was muttering to himself and trying to write something that looked like a poem, Imoen was staring at a spell scroll in incomprehension, Minsc was eating enough to feed an army, Kivan was chewing listlessly at a piece of bacon, and Jaheira and Khalid were talking amongst themselves, as usual.

Willow plonked the paper down in the middle of the table. Everyone leaned over to read it, Edwin carefully marking his place in his book first.

Finally Jaheira looked up and raised an eyebrow at Willow. Willow pointed to her throat and Jaheira hastily said, "It should be fine for you to speak. Now tell us what this is."

Willow began to speak, cleared her throat, and began again. "Well, I've been thinking that we haven't really been paying enough attention to training. I mean, Immy here wants to learn magic and I nearly got myself killed, so… I've taken the liberty of drawing up a plan."

They all looked back down at the paper, which was a collection of names, lines, crossings-out, dots, blotches, idle doodles, and over the whole of it, a large black X.

Jaheira reached out and turned the paper over, thinking perhaps it might be explained on the other side.

On the other side was a single sentence: "Practice morning, noon, night, and any time in-between."

There was a moment's silence before Edwin remarked, "Well, that _is_ detailed. (Barely.)"

Willow looked expectantly at them.

When no more comments were forthcoming she said, "Well, see, it's like this. Jaheira, Khalid, Minsc and Kivan, you can teach all of us," she motioned to herself, Imoen, Garrick, and Edwin, "To use our weapons. I especially want you to give Eddie some tips on the sling, Jaheira, 'cause frankly he's bad at it."

Edwin frowned but technically could not say she was wrong.

"And Eddie, I want you to teach these two," she pointed at Imoen and Garrick (Garrick looked vaguely panicked), "Magic."

"Don't call me that. And what? (What?)"

"I want you to teach them magic."

"Hah! You put an impossible task before me, girl. (As if anyone could teach these two twits the fine magical arts.)"

"Everyone needs a challenge in their life, Eddie," replied Willow, shrugging.

Imoen said, "Hey!" in mock outrage.

Edwin looked at Willow and could tell that he would not be able to rest until he agreed, and so decided to save himself the trouble of arguing and instead said, "I suppose if anyone were to succeed at such a daunting task, it would be me. (Will I be able to stand the two of them? Agh, don't think about that now.) If I must," he concluded.

"Yay!" shouted Imoen, and threw her arms around Edwin's neck and squeezed hard while he protested. When Edwin finally managed to extricate himself from Imoen's grasp, red-faced and glaring at the table at large, Willow continued.

"And so everyone can get trained at what they wanna do," she said.

"Don't you think you are over-compensating just a little?" remarked Jaheira.

Willow frowned at her. "What do you mean?"

"It is understandable to come out a near-death experience ready to… improve oneself, but I do believe you are—"

"I'm just trying to make sure it doesn't happen to anyone else, Jaheira," interrupted Willow.

Jaheira tapped her fingers on the table. "A commendable attitude, but I think this is too much, too soon. Why don't—"

Willow interrupted again, saying, "Look, I just want us to be prepared for anything. If I'd died that night— I mean, you all--" She didn't know how to go about saying it, but Nimbul's doubt that her friends would mourn her death had made her all the more eager to avoid it.

Apparently Jaheira had picked up on this. "Do not doubt that we would have mourned," she said. There was a hard look about her. "I can see now what the true issue is—"

"Would you have?" asked Willow, her voice rising. "You certainly didn't seem to care that Gorion died!"

Jaheira looked as though she'd been slapped. "I…" she began, but Willow turned and hurried out the door.

Jaheira turned to look wordlessly at Khalid. Edwin quietly went back to his book.

* * *

Jaheira and Khalid, deciding to give Willow some time "to reflect," took their extra gear to the store and sold it or traded it in for better equipment while Edwin started immediately on Imoen and Garrick's magic lessons.

"Aww, c'mon, Eddie, let's just get started on the magic!" complained Imoen as she scribbled, "I must not summon demons before I am ready," one hundred times.

"First the basics," replied Edwin, clearly reveling in the sense of authority.

Minsc strode off in search of Willow and found her sitting nearby on the lowest branch of her namesake tree. He pushed aside the fronds hanging down like a curtain and walked up to her.

She gave him a sullen look, but he noticed that her eyes were bloodshot, as though she'd been trying to cry but couldn't. He was tall enough that he was almost at eye-level with her even while she was sitting in the tree.

"I suppose everyone thinks I'm a little brat now," she said conversationally.

"Minsc and Boo do not think that," replied Minsc, holding Boo up for her inspection. Boo twitched his nose at her.

"Minsc and Boo have enough problems," she said. She sniffled a little. Minsc reached up to help her down.

Once she was on the ground she added, "How are you feeling?"

Minsc shrugged, looking sad, but not nearly as sad as he had the other day. "If no one could save her, Minsc is at least glad he could talk to his witch before she died. She told him many things, most of which he doesn't understand, but Boo promises that someday he will." He thought and then said, "But Minsc thinks it must be easier to die than to have only almost died."

Willow wiped at her nose and nodded.

"Everything will be alright," promised Minsc, patting her on the shoulder. They set off to find the rest of the group.


	12. Reconciliations and Smoking

They stopped to rest late in the afternoon by a small stream. Khalid had presented Willow with the ankheg armor upon her return and now she was sitting by the stream, gulping water like there was no tomorrow. Despite supposedly being considerably lighter than plate mail, it was really heavier than she could handle, though she wasn't about to admit that out loud. She and Jaheira had been avoiding each other since morning and she didn't want to give Jaheira some reason to think she was even more of a bother than she already did.

Edwin had pulled Imoen and Garrick aside as soon as they'd stopped and was now making them do wrist exercises. Imoen looked bored; Garrick looked scared. But that was a normal expression for Garrick and Willow assumed it was simply because he was afraid of Edwin.

"One must have supple digits to cast spells correctly!" Edwin was proclaiming. He presented his own hands as examples, and Willow noticed that he was wearing the bracers she had found on the half-ogre. "Do one hundred of those, each hand, every day!"

Imoen made a complaining noise but didn't dare protest otherwise.

It was an unusually hot day for the beginning of autumn, and Willow wondered if she ought to take off her armor. Finally she decided that no amount of protection was worth this much trouble and removed the plates with difficulty. Khalid had helped her with the straps when she'd put it on but now she was having trouble remembering what attached to what and which went where. Eventually she managed to get it off and collapsed by the stream again, panting.

She was attempting to braid her hair by her reflection in the stream, which wasn't working too well, when Jaheira approached from behind and wordlessly held a mirror out to her. Willow took it without looking up and said, "How do you keep it from breaking?"

"Khalid gave it to me as a gift for Midwinter; it's enchanted to be unbreakable." Willow thought Jaheira was going to walk away but instead she felt the druid's cool fingers gather up her hair and start brushing it.

Willow examined the mirror as Jaheira brushed. It was a vaguely squareish shape and had a wrought iron oak tree spread along the sides of it, framing the bottom with a root and the top with a branch. The side was made into a handle of sorts with the trunk of the oak. Khalid must have known that Jaheira would have protested against such a gift, saying it was vain to carry a mirror, but Willow saw that it was well-polished and there were very few scratches on its surface. It was clear that Jaheira took pains to keep it in good condition.

Jaheira continued brushing, and Willow wondered if this was what it was like to have a mother.

"I have something to tell you," said Jaheira as she carefully worked through a tangle. "And it's not going to be that I think you're a horrible person or that I wish you had died that night."

"That's a relief," muttered Willow.

"I loved Gorion like a brother," continued Jaheira. "Perhaps even like a father. I always knew that I would outlive him, with my being half-elven and him already getting on in years when I met him. I simply… didn't know he would be taken from us so soon."

Willow didn't answer and so Jaheira continued, "I am not… skilled at expressing emotions-- other than anger," she admitted. "But I want you to know that even if I may not seem it, I was deeply hurt by Gorion's death. I won't tell you how it felt because you already know."

Willow nodded and Jaheira put aside the brush and began braiding, fingers working quickly but carefully. Eventually all of Willow's hair was worked into the braid and Jaheira tied it off with a leather thong.

"We really should cut it all off," Jaheira remarked, resting her hands on Willow's shoulders. "It provides a handhold for your enemies."

Willow looked at Jaheira in the mirror and said, "Yours is long."

Jaheira's hand went unbidden to her own braid, similar in color to Willow's and draped over her shoulder. "I… I am told it is the same color as my mother's. I keep it as a reminder."

"You didn't know your mother?" asked Willow.

"I never knew either of my parents, although I suppose I must have as a baby. They were killed while I was very young and I was brought to a druid grove."

"We're both orphans, then?" pursued Willow, feeling her braid and wondering how Jaheira had managed to weave her hair like a blanket.

"I suppose so," said Jaheira. "If you have trouble braiding it again, part the hair and make two braids. It's easier to braid for yourself, that way."

Jaheira walked away, feeling somehow lighter.

* * *

They arrived in Beregost just when twilight had begun spreading across the land. Women of questionable employment were standing around outside Feldepost's. Edwin took one look at them, scoffed, and opened the door. He held it open as Willow approached, and she looked at him in astonishment.

"An Odesseiron always holds a door for a lady. (Or a woman, anyway. I wouldn't exactly call you a lady.)"

"Gee, thanks, Eddie," replied Willow, and walked inside.

"(Stop calling me that! Oh, what is the point?)"

Willow looked around the inn and saw that it was a very popular place, indeed. A bard was leading a large crowd of listeners through a chorus of a song and there was much alcohol flowing. Everywhere.

She was stopped in her advance on the bar by a large man who looked (and smelled) extremely drunk. "'Ere, now! Get out!" he slurred at her. "I don't like your type in here!"

Willow looked up at him in distaste and said, "Why should I? Looks to me like there's plenty of room for all of us."

"'Why should I,' she asks," sneered the man, hiccupping. "Because I said so, that's why!"

"Heh, you tell 'er, Marl!" said a man at a nearby table.

"So let me get this straight," said Willow as Edwin and Imoen approached the scene from behind her. "You regularly approach young women and tell them to get out of this bar? Just because you can?"

"You adventurers are all the same!" said the man, and this time there was a desperate hint to his voice. "You come striding into town, bold as brass, throwing your gold all over the place! Maybe convince somebody's son he should go off and do the same! And somebody's son gets KILLED. Why shouldn't I blame all of you for that?"

"Maybe somebody's son wouldn't have wandered off into the wilds if somebody himself had let him do something on his own for once," remarked Willow.

Marl's fists clenched and he looked on the verge of violence.

"Tell me," interjected Edwin from behind Willow, "How does hitting technically unarmed women make this 'somebody' any better than the adventurers which he himself so loathes?"

Marl turned to Edwin, looked blearily at him, and took a swing.

Edwin ducked, and Marl went so far off-balance that he tumbled under a table and stayed there.

"Well, that was a pleasant interlude. I need a drink." Edwin walked to the bar.

Marl's friend rushed to check on him as the rest of the group followed suit. "Hey, how'd you duck that, Eddie?" asked Willow as Edwin perused the wine menu. "You've never been particularly good at that sort of thing before. I seem to recall a half-ogre that had a fun time crushing your nose that way, for instance."

"Don't call me that," he said, and held up one hand for inspection. Willow was confused as to what he wanted her to look at until she remembered the bracers she'd seen earlier.

"They're magic?" she guessed.

"Turns out they're Gauntlets of Dexterity," said Garrick from her other side. "I remembered reading about them before, but I wasn't quite sure, so I had Nalin at the temple of Helm check them out. We all decided Edwin could use them most," he finished, and cringed slightly as Edwin glared at him.

"I will admit that I feel… better-equipped for the travels ahead," said Edwin.

"That's good. We wouldn't want your face getting broken again," said Willow, and meant it, which confused Edwin to no end.

* * *

Later, after they'd relaxed a bit, they rented rooms and went upstairs, expecting conflict. They found it when they found Tranzig emerging from his room, Xan in tow. Xan made a small gesture to Willow behind Tranzig's back, which she took to mean that Tranzig hadn't guessed at his true purpose yet.

This was confirmed when Tranzig glared at the now-heavily-armed party and said, "Looks like dese men want trouble," ignoring the fact that there were several women standing in front of him.

"I'll give 'em trouble."

* * *

As the party and Tranzig stared each other down, Xan started slowly backing away, indicating with his thumb that he was… going to hide in the corner. Willow rolled her eyes at him, which he took to be a good sign, and proceeded to crawl under the bed.

Willow moved forward cautiously as everyone arrayed themselves at her back. Tranzig held his staff at a more threatening angle as she got closer.

"Don't come any closer, wench! I knows spells that'll make yer head explode!" He glared daggers at her.

Willow stared him down for a moment. Then she struck like a viper, foot flashing out to catch Tranzig in a very uncomfortable spot indeed.

As Tranzig curled into a weepy ball on the ground Jaheira pulled a length of rope from her pack. Willow said, "Should have held that staff a little lower, man," as she grabbed at his arms to hold them steady for Jaheira to tie. "C'mon, clutching at it won't help. Will it?" she added to Jaheira.

"Most likely it would make it worse," replied Jaheira in her most clinical tones.

"An… interesting technique," remarked Edwin as he entered the room, suddenly feeling very, very nervous. "What—" he squeaked, and tried again, "What do you call it?"

Willow grinned up at him from where she was holding Tranzig's arms as Jaheira knotted the rope tightly. "I call it, 'Kick Inna Groin.' Always worked on anyone who bothered me in Candlekeep."

"Anyone male, that is," added Imoen, making slightly threatening gestures with her feet as she walked by Edwin, grinning just as widely as Willow.

Edwin winced, but said, "It is never a good idea to threaten your tutor with violence, girl. (I should know.)" he added.

Imoen shut up and stood still.

"Right, then," said Willow, moving to tie Tranzig's feet. "Is he going to be doing that for long?" she asked Jaheira, pointing at the still-weeping mage.

"I thought you had done this before?" asked Jaheira with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, yes, but that was more of a 'kick-and-run' thing," replied Willow, frowning thoughtfully.

"I'm afraid we can only wait until he gets a grip on himself. This particular 'technique' is the best way to hurt a man but half of the pain is that of the pride." The three women in the room looked with closed expressions at the male population, nearly all of whom shuffled their feet self-consciously and looked uncomfortable.

While they waited for Tranzig to recover enough to talk, Xan emerged from under the bed and smoothed himself down, brushing the dust-bunnies from his robes.

"I shall undoubtedly be sneezing all night, now," he said.

"Hey, you were a load of help a few minutes ago," remarked Willow sardonically from her perch on the end of the bed.

Xan looked at her and said, "Why bother fighting when it is obvious I shall lose?"

"Oh, right, sorry I even mentioned it," replied Willow, sharing a long-suffering look with Edwin, who added, "Such faith in one's abilities is truly inspiring."

"Sarcasm me to death if you like, I shall only apologize for the tears I leave on your boots," said Xan, and pulled a chair over from the corner of the room.

Tranzig made a noise that wasn't precisely a sob, and so Willow and Jaheira moved to kneel down on the floor next to him. The sight of Willow set him bawling again.

"Oh, get over it," commanded Willow, taking him by the shoulder and shaking him like a disobedient puppy.

"I'll tell yer anything, just don't kick me again!" said Tranzig.

"Boy, we're good at making the enemy cry," joked Imoen.

"Tell us where the bandit camp is, who leads it, and how we can get to it with as little pain as possible," said Willow.

"I can't tell yer where it is!"

"Oh, well, you want me to stomp you again? 'Cause it'll be ever so much easier this time, with you at my mercy," said Willow, shifting so that one heavy boot was in his view.

"Agh! I meant—I meant that it moves around! You gotta look in Peldvale or—or Larswood! I swear I ain't lying!" Tranzig's hands shifted and he sobbed harder.

Willow looked at Jaheira, who said, "They are both forests north of Beregost, near the Friendly Arm."

Willow turned back to Tranzig. "And who leads the bandits?" _As if we didn't already know_, she added to herself in the back of her mind.

"Tazok! Tazok leads them! Big ugly half-ogre only don't tell him I said dat 'cause he'll kill me fer sure, only please don't you kill me 'cause I really don't wanna die like this oh gods," bawled Tranzig.

Willow's eyes widened as she looked at him trying to kiss her feet. "Er, right, you can stop that now." She stood up.

"Whaddya gonna do with me?" asked Tranzig, staring up at her with terrified eyes.

Willow looked around and saw a pile of old laundry in the corner. Not wanting to rifle through Tranzig's soiled garments, she quickly picked two extremely smelly stockings and crammed them into his mouth. As he made muffled sounds of protest she motioned for the others to go on ahead to their rooms, saying, "The maids'll find him in the morning, probably. If he doesn't die of stench first."

* * *

The next day, Edwin, Garrick, Imoen, and Kivan left for High Hedge to replenish their spell supplies and buy some scrolls for Imoen and Garrick to practice scribing with. Willow convinced Kivan to go with them for "a bit of protection," though Edwin obviously thought this was completely unnecessary, because when he left he was muttering to himself about "arrogant little girls who think they know ever so much about my ability to protect my wards."

Willow, Minsc, and Khalid left for the smithy soon after that (after Khalid, taking Willow up on her plan, had put them through a rigorous workout in the stable-yard behind the inn), while Jaheira journeyed to the temple of Lathander east of the city to stock up on potions and scrolls. Xan stayed behind and moped.

They reconvened again at Feldepost's at lunchtime, just in time to see two guards carrying a still-tied Tranzig down the stairs at the back of the inn. As they passed, Tranzig motioned frantically at the party with his trussed hands, but the guards either didn't notice or didn't care. Imoen and Willow giggled to themselves as Edwin went upstairs to arrange the spell components.

Soon Willow and Imoen were engaging in their usual silliness. Willow did her best Edwin imitation, rolling her R's extravagantly, turning her I sounds to E sounds, and closing her nose to sound as nasal as possible.

"Yes, yes, anyone of the female persuasion, please get in an orderly line and be ready to be dazzled by the peerless persuasive skills of me, EDWIN ODESSEIRON (the most handsome and skilled mage on the continent, nay, the WORLD)! Please, no flash iconography, it gives me spots in my vision!"

Imoen dissolved into giggles and even Kivan smiled as she went on. But a moment later, Imoen suddenly sat up straighter and looked at a fixed point somewhere beyond Willow's left shoulder.

"And so that is why you should make me your leader (he's right behind me, isn't he?)" continued Willow.

Kivan nodded solemnly. Willow turned around to see Edwin standing behind her, arms folded across his chest, and one eyebrow raised.

"An admirable choice for imitation but I fail to see what exactly is so funny about it," he said.

"Oh, well, Edwin… it's just that your… delightful personality shines even through my… pathetic mimicking," attempted Willow.

Edwin gave her a "don't make me hurt you" sort of look and sat down to eat lunch.

* * *

The party contemplated exploring the area around Beregost before heading north, but decided that the bandit situation simply could not wait. They stayed one more night in Beregost, then headed north the next morning. Xan accompanied them, saying, "I may as well see this insanity through, thought it will surely be the death of me."

As they were moving out of town they saw an old man approaching them. He was trailing smoke from an intricately-carved pipe and walked with a large staff. Willow recognized the pointy hat most of all, however.

"Well, it's the cryptic elder from the road," she said as he drew even with them.

"Indeed 'tis," he said, puffing on his pipe. "Although I thank thee for calling me 'elder' instead of the more honest option of 'old man.'"

Willow nodded, and then waved away the smoke that was now drifting towards her. "Would you mind not doing that?" she asked, coughing lightly to illustrate her point. "Filthy habit, really."

The old man looked surprised for a moment before he nodded and put the pipe out. "Clearly introductions are in order, if thou art to be chastising me in my habits," he said, and extended a hand towards her. She shook it. "I am Elminster."

"Hey, Eddie, it's Elminster! Your favorite person!" Imoen elbowed Edwin.

"(Elminster this, Elminster that! Give me two thousand years and a pointy hat and I'll kick his arse! I don't even need the hat! Over-compensation, if you ask me.)" Edwin irritably brushed Imoen's invading elbow aside.

"I must assume that you already know who I am," said Willow over the little exchange going on in back of her.

"Thou art correct again. I know that thou art Willow, and that thou art becoming quite the hero in this area." Elminster didn't seem to quite know what to do with his hands when they weren't fiddling with a pipe, and so he simply gripped his staff with both.

"Oh, well, all in a day's work," replied Willow.

"Humility is a good trait in a hero," he replied, nodding sagely.

"Who said anything about humility? I just meant that it really is at least a day's work most of the time. Heroing is tiring."

Elminster blinked, then said, "Indeed. Now, I must leave thee to thy 'heroing'; however, I would impart thee with a bit of advice: thou knowest that the bandits thou dost seek can be found to the north—but know this also—thou canst think on a grand scale or on a small scale, and many times the small scale is the best. Good day."

Elminster walked off, leaving Willow to mutter, "Hey, hey Elminster, why don't you take that nice pipe and stick it up your—"

"Willow!" exclaimed Jaheira, looking stern.

"Well, I'm tired of everyone being so cryptic! Why can't someone, just once, say, 'Hey, Willow, I hear you're looking for bandits. Say, I saw some north of Beregost! But be careful, there's a lot of them, you might wanna be careful!'"

"Elminster is not known for his unambiguousness, I'll give you that," Jaheira conceded. "But that is no reason for that kind of attitude."

Willow sighed and didn't press the issue, and they continued onward.


	13. Rhymes With Orange

The party camped that night in the ruins, Kivan making a smokeless fire behind a crumbling wall so the bandits wouldn't see it. Willow sat leaning against another wall, running her fingers through Quoth's feathers and listening to him speak in her mind.

He was telling her an old Raven legend, about how the first raven had found Man in a giant clamshell and coaxed them out so that He could get a better look at them. Raven, having nothing better to do, lead them to a safe place and taught them to fish and hunt and protect themselves from the weather. He taught them how to avoid the wolves and other creatures that would have hunted _them_ out of desperation in a cold winter. And then He had moved on to his next big project: Tricking the first wolf out of his dinner.

_So you see, humans are essentially something formed out the spit of a clam! _he finished.

"That's lovely," Willow replied sleepily.

Viconia sat down heavily near her, and Quoth flapped off to bother Edwin, writing in his journal once again.

"You're not quite what I expected," Willow said after a moment.

"What? You expected all Drow to be hideous hags?" asked Viconia, sounding amused.

"Well… I suppose," replied Willow.

"That is the danger of the Drow," said Viconia. "And of all elves. The more beautiful they are, the more cunning."

"All elves?" asked Willow, and let her eyes stray to Kivan's profile, silhouetted against the firelight. He was speaking with Xan, across the fire from him.

She didn't see Viconia's smirk but she did hear her reply. "All elves. You think, in the way of humans, that elves are the flower-loving twits of children's stories. But we have been on this earth far longer than humans and have the survival instinct to show it. Just as your raven there is a trickster, so are we." She pointed to Quoth, who was hopping from one of Edwin's shoulders to the other, easily avoiding Edwin's half-hearted flapping of hands. Neither Viconia nor Edwin could hear him, but Quoth was saying, _Whatcha doin'? Whatcha doin'? Whatcha doin'?_ as he switched shoulders.

Willow grinned. Finally, Edwin stood up, Quoth balanced on one shoulder, and walked over to Willow.

"I believe this is yours," he said, pointing to the bird. Quoth nibbled his finger gently.

Willow grinned again and held out her hand, which the raven fluttered obediently onto. Edwin stalked back to his place, muttering.

_He's drawing you, Boss,_ said Quoth, turning to cock his head at Willow.

Willow knitted her brows in confusion. "I wouldn't say he's taunting me, really…"

_No, no, I mean drawing you. Like, with charcoal_, replied Quoth. _It's got cross-hatching and everything!_

Willow looked over at Edwin just in time to see him look back at his journal. He did, indeed, appear to be sketching something.

"Er," she said.

"I suggest you take him for your slave quickly," said Viconia. "Fleeting infatuations only make for good slaves if you catch them early."

"Er," said Willow again. "I dunno if it's that easy…"

--------------------------------------

Edwin waited until midnight before he snuck away from camp. Minsc was on watch, but a simple invisibility spell solved that problem, and Edwin found his way to the temple ruins by the light of the almost-full moon.

They were south of their current position, barely more than a stone foundation and a crumbling block of marble that had once been an altar. Shallow stone steps led to the top of the stage-like construction, and to the Red Wizards standing atop it.

"Edwin," said one in bored tones as he approached. "I see you received our message."

Remembering the piece of parchment that he had encountered in his dinner, Edwin nodded.

"I do hope our aim was satisfactory," said another, smirking slightly at Edwin.

"Quite," said Edwin.

"Good, good," said the first. "Now, Edwin. I assume the witch is dead?"

Edwin swallowed, but said, "As dead as any doornail."

"Ah, a local saying, is it not? How quaint."

Edwin cleared his throat and didn't answer. He'd been taught that if you didn't have anything nice to say to those above you, you should avoid saying anything else, lest you get your tongue cut out.

"And the girl?" asked the third and final wizard. "We have received your reports—I must say, rather clever, enchanting that page in your journal to send messages. A highly… _unexpected_ stroke of genius."

Edwin scowled momentarily, but replied, "Thank you. As I said, the girl's power seems to be growing. She has gained a small measure of healing ability, though it seems uncontrolled at best, thus far."

"Yes, yes, Edwin," said the second wizard. "But is she worth Thay's time?"

Edwin hesitated a moment before saying, "In time, eventually she will be… but for now, she is still developing her skills."

"I see," said the first. He gave Edwin a measuring look. "You will continue traveling with her, Edwin. You will also inform us of when you think she is 'ready'. We will then take over the task of convincing her to… 'join' us."

Edwin raised a cautionary, slightly trembling finger. "Ah, yes, you see… that may be rather difficult. She seems very, er, stubborn. Independent, if you will."

"Edwin, Edwin," said the third wizard. "Were you not saying just before you left Thay that you can convince any woman to do any_thing_?"

"Ah, did I?" asked Edwin, swallowing again. "I don't seem to—"

"And who was it you said that to?" asked the wizard, raising his own finger to his chin in a pensive gesture. "Oh, yes. _My wife_."

"I can't seem to recall that particular statement, you see," babbled Edwin. "Recent wound to the head, you see—" he stopped in his efforts to back away slowly as the third wizard approached him.

"Edwin," he said, "You will succeed, or you will be exiled. It is as simple as that. You know we have little use for you aside from this one, simple task. Don't make us have to get rid of you. It will mean a lot of paperwork."

Edwin nodded. He reached into a pocket and drew out several pieces of parchment, on which he had drawn the various members of the party. Willow's rather long nose flashed at him as the wizard leafed through them, as did Imoen's freckles and Minsc's tattoo.

The wizard examined them closely, turning the papers around and about. "You have some talent, Edwin… a pity your voice could crack diamonds, otherwise you might have been a bard. Oh, look, you bothered to add some shading. At least we'll be able to recognize them in different lighting." The wizard snickered.

"Remember what we have said, Edwin," said the first wizard, and turned away.

The other two also turned and walked away, cloaks and robes swishing dramatically. Edwin took one more step backward and fell off the foundation.

"Argh," he said to no one in particular as he lay on his back, staring up at the sky.

--------------------------------------

The same night, as Willow slept, she dreamed of flying.

She was on Quoth's back, the raven apparently grown to be able to carry her, and they were winging through the air. Quoth was performing mid-air somersaults and rolls and other tricks, but Willow stayed on as if she were glued to him.

They flew above what looked like the bandit camp, and Willow saw large tents and small tents and the night guards standing at their posts. She took special note of the largest tent, since that, she assumed, was Tazok's quarters.

Quoth slowed when they reached a series of large hills to the north of their own camp, and fluttered to the ground in front of a cave. Willow leaped off, her legs wobbling as they grew accustomed to being on the ground again.

Quoth pointed with his oversized beak at the cave, and Willow marched into it. Inside was very dark, except for a shaft of light that shone down onto a statue of… herself.

It looked exactly like Willow in every detail, down to the long fingers and the chipped nails. She thought she even saw traces of dirt on the fingers. It stared blankly at her.

Footsteps sounded behind her and she turned to see Viconia. Her white hair seemed to glow more than ever and her skin nearly blended in with the darkness around her.

"Do you like it?" she asked. "I carved it myself."

Willow shrugged. "Hair's a bit long," she lied.

"Perhaps you should cut it, then," remarked Viconia.

"Maybe you should adjust the statue," replied Willow.

There was silence for a moment.

"You are a very stubborn girl," said Viconia. "I usually admire that, though in this case it is irritating rather than amusing."

"I thought Drow prized strong women," said Willow. "Ones that can behead people without a thought."

"Oh, you've proven you can do that," said Viconia, sounding amused.

Willow nodded in acknowledgment of a point well-earned.

Viconia walked forward, hand outstretched. In it was the bone dagger, this time dripping with an ugly black liquid that seemed to bubble and seethe even while still.

"This stature represents that part of you which still prizes compassion, that most useless of human and demihuman inventions," said Viconia. "And this dagger represents your desire to be rid of it. Without compassion you can be free to kill those who oppose you without a thought. It will help you. You know it will." Viconia looked her in the eyes.

Willow looked down at the dagger, considering.

"No, I don't think so," she said after a moment. "I think I like myself the way I am, aside from apparently annoying everyone I meet."

Viconia smirked. "With this part of you gone," she said, indicating the statue, "Even that will be a thing of the past. Annoyance will give way to fear very quickly indeed."

Willow shook her head without further consideration. "No, thank you."

Viconia turned to face her fully. "Very well," she said, and plunged the dagger straight into Willow's heart.

--------------------------------------

The next morning, Imoen awoke and stretched hard, working out the kinks in her back. Sleeping on the ground was starting to give her spine problems, she was sure of it.

Garrick gave her his usual cheerful greeting, which she tried to smile at, but it turned into a twisted sort of half-grimace. She noticed that Edwin was making much the same expression, though she doubted he'd tried to smile first.

"I'm still tired," Imoen complained, yawning widely and making her words sound mushed together.

"Me too," said Willow, sitting next to her and spooning a large glop of oatmeal into a bowl. She handed it to Imoen.

"I'm also getting tired of this gunk," said Imoen, though she ate a large bite the moment she had a spoon in her hand.

"Me too," replied Willow.

"I wonder when we'll go after those bandits," said Imoen after a moment of chewing.

"Me too," came the reply.

"I think I'm in love with Edwin," Imoen tried.

"Me t—wait. What?" Willow turned to her with alarmed eyes.

Imoen sniggered. "Oh, just making sure you're still able to say anything other than 'me too.' Why do you keep rubbing your chest like that?" she added.

Willow started and put her hand back to her spoon. "Oh. Just a dream."

"I thought I heard something whimpering last night," said Imoen slowly, remembering. "I thought it was just a wolf or something somewhere."

Willow shrugged. "If it was me, I didn't know I was doing it," she said, finishing her oatmeal and getting up.

Imoen frowned, but refrained from saying anything else. Garrick said, "Imoen, I… er, I'd like to talk to after you finish your breakfast, if possible."

She looked at him. He was looking rather red in the cheeks, and had the sort of expression one has before they're about to be sick.

"Er, okay," she said. She set her bowl down and stood up. "That's not really worth finishing, anyway."

Garrick stood up, stumbling over his feet in his haste, and led her a short way from the party into a copse of trees.

"Er," he said. He handed her a slip of paper. "I wanted to, er, give this to you."

Imoen took it and unfolded it. She read:

"Roses are red,

Violets are blue.

You're really sweet,

And honey is, too.

I like spending time

Making things rhyme.

If you'd rhyme with me,

I'd very happily

Give you an… orange."

Imoen blinked. She looked up at Garrick, who by now was one mass of a particularly lovely shade of purple.

"Um, thank you." She attempted.

Garrick grinned widely, which quickly gave way to leaning forward very slowly and pursing his lips.

Imoen held the poem up to her face just as Garrick made the final leap. His lips met parchment and Imoen said, "Oh, lookit the time, we should get ready to go kick some bandit behind!" She hurried away.

Just before she reached the others, she heard Garrick say, "Drat."

--------------------------------------

Jaheira suggested following Elmister's advice, much to Willow's protest against, as she put it, "stupid plans made by senile old men" (to which Edwin nodded fervently), but in the end the party arranged itself into a V-formation and marched headfirst into the camp, looking as much like they belonged there as they could.

The first face Willow saw, after the guard that initially ran after them, looking confused, was Xzar. He beamed at her, revealing sharpened teeth inset with red gems. He waved at her. She could hear Quoth cackling ravenishly in the air, but before she could look up, something hit her on the back of the head and everything went black.

--------------------------------------

Willow awoke to find herself bound head-to-foot with extremely thick rope. She was lying on her side on a hard wooden floor. A hobgoblin in scale mail was standing nearby, glaring at them.

"You move one inch, I breaky you neck," he said.

Willow couldn't answer for the gag in her mouth, and so made several threatening grunts at him.

The hobgoblin laughed nastily and hit her on the backside with the flat of his sword. Willow tried to force an outraged squeal past the gag but didn't succeed very well.

Lying next to her was Edwin, still unconscious, and beyond him was Kivan. His eyes were lowered most of the way so as to still appear unconscious, but Willow saw him nod slightly as she looked at him.

Willow didn't think she could turn over with all this rope binding her, and so she settled down to wait. She didn't think they had managed to capture the entire party; she only heard the breath of perhaps five people, including the hobgoblin, though she couldn't see who was lying on her other side.

Eventually Edwin awoke with a groan, attempting to put a hand to the back of his head and finding that he could barely move. He looked around and rolled his eyes at Willow, who sighed.

Outside the tent there was suddenly the sound of glass breaking and then a huge whoosh, as if something had caught on fire very quickly. Yells and shouts began filtering in through the thick leather walls of the tent.

The hobgoblin looked nervous, but didn't move from his post. He glared harder at his prisoners, as though willing them to move so he could kill them and get to the action. Willow wanted to stick her tongue out at him but settled for crossing her eyes in a mocking gesture.

The hobgoblin grunted menacingly and started forward, but a human bandit burst through the tent flaps, followed by Xzar and Montaron.

"Boss says to kill 'em all," said the bandit, leering at them. "Woulda liked to have had some fun first with the womenfolk, but ye can't have everything, eh?"

Kivan growled through his gag.

Montaron almost pranced forward and leaned over the elf. He cackled at him. "Whatcha gonna do about it, eh? Eh?" Montaron spit accurately into Kivan's left eye.

Kivan recoiled, but a second later he slammed his fist upward into the halfling's stomach. Montaron reeled backward onto a sword.

Kivan seemed to have his hands and feet free, and before Willow could even comprehend what was going on he had cut down the human bandit and was circling the hobgoblin. Xzar had shouted and run forward to Montaron, who was beyond help.

Xzar turned to Willow with a deadly expression on his face. "You killed Monty," he said. "Now I'm going to kill you. And then make you into a _hand-puppet_."

The mage stood. Willow attempted to do the same but couldn't get her bound legs to do anything she wanted them to.

Two feet slammed into Xzar's lower body and he slumped forward with a cry. Willow looked around to see that Edwin was lying painfully on his back and arms but had a very satisfied expression on his face.

Kivan took advantage of the distraction this caused and ran the hobgoblin through. Then he wheeled around and drove the sword he had picked up into Xzar's back.

The elf pulled the gag from his mouth and said, "They put me next to a pile of weapons."

When Edwin had had his gag removed and Kivan was sawing at the ropes around his hands, he said, "Hah! Idiots. (I should give villain lessons. Lesson number one: Never put prisoners next to large piles of sharp weaponry.)"

Soon everyone was free from their bonds and Willow turned to see that the fourth member of their little prisoner party was not anyone she knew, but a fellow who looked like a half-elf. He was dressed in black and wore frail-looking boots.

He waved at them, which was somewhat out of place and seemed surreal. "Looks like you've been making trouble for the Iron Throne too, eh?"

"Iron Throne?" asked Willow, looking for her swords.

"You mean you don't know who runs this place?" the man asked looking incredulous. "They make believe it's the Zhents, and the bandits spread that rumour around something awful, but it's really the Throne that controls this operation. I don't wear soft-soled boots for nothin'; I wear 'em so's I can easily figure out whose toes I'm stepping on, and the Throne has toes made of iron."

"And what exactly is this Iron Throne?" asked Edwin, absentmindedly pulling a belt on which two swords hung from a pile nearby and handing them to Willow.

"It's only the biggest trade company in Baldur's Gate," said the man, snorting. "This here camp is just a part of a much bigger scheme, you mark my words."

There was an explosion outside, much closer than the last one. The man looked around nervously.

"Look, just look in that chest," he said, pointing. "It's full of Tazok's personal letters. And now I think I'll be going." He ran from the tent.

"Coward," remarked Edwin as he went to the chest. Just as he was about to open it, Willow grabbed his arm.

"Wait, we should have Imoen check that for traps before we open it," she said. "I've got a bad feeling about it. "

Edwin sighed, but nodded. Then he looked around and said, "Where is the elf?"

Willow turned. Kivan was nowhere to be seen. She cursed under her breath.

"He must've run out there," she said, accidentally treading on Xzar's fingers in her haste to run outside. Edwin followed at a slower pace, lifting his robes as he stepped over the bodies.

Outside, Willow observed the devastation with more than a little disbelief. She'd had no idea that her party was capable of causing such mayhem. Quoth descended from the top of the tent and landed on her shoulder clumsily, clacking his beak at her.

_Watch out, Boss_, he said.

A huge man with a large hammer and a shield appeared in front of her, down the steps off the wooden platform she was standing on. He roared like a beast at her.

"You need to work on your people skills, mate," said Willow as she drew her swords. Quoth flapped off.

"Taugosz 'Tenhammer' Khosan has no need of 'people skills'," snarled the man, and leapt forward to attack her.

Willow blocked and followed up with a thrust Khalid had taught her. It was parried and she only just managed to block his counterattack.

An arrow that made a strange fizzling sound whizzed past her head and hit Tenhammer in the chest. Willow took advantage of his distraction to knock the hammer from his hand; she then hooked one sword behind his shield as she had done to Neira to pull him off-balance. A sword to the back finished him off. Willow looked up to see Edwin finishing another spell and sending another fizzling arrow into the fray.

"Melf's Acid Arrow," he said smugly. "I didn't just spend money on Imoen at Thalantyr's, after all. (The boy is hardly worth the cost of feeding.)"

Willow grinned and ran off into the mêlée. She encountered Viconia healing a wounded Imoen behind one of the tents. Imoen waved at her, slightly pale but otherwise fine. Willow worked her way through the battle to them.

"Seen Kivan?" she asked.

"Think he went that way," said Imoen, pointing. "Ouch!"

"Stay still, girl," said Viconia, sounding annoyed. Imoen rolled her eyes but did as she was told.

Willow gave her a bolstering squeeze on the shoulder and ran off.

Finally, she found Kivan and Khalid fighting back-to-back in the middle of a group of bandits. She waded into them and swung at anything that looked hostile—it was a tactic that worked better than it might sound. They had nearly scared off the remaining bandits when there came another roaring voice over the sounds of battle.

"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?" it thundered.

The three of them turned to see a huge half-ogre swinging a bastard sword at Jaheira, who leap aside only just in time. Khalid ran to her.

"I WILL HAVE THE HEADS OF WHOEVER CAUSED THIS!" roared the half-ogre.

"Tazok!" said Kivan. Willow was alarmed to hear a kind of feverish excitement in his voice. He sprinted forward.

Willow could see now why Viconia had called elves "tricksters." Kivan, faced with his mortal enemy, was using every dirty-fighting technique he knew, and apparently he knew many. Tripping, blinding, nothing was off-limits.

Willow attempted to move forward to help him, but he saw her and yelled, "No! This is my fight!"

Tazok laughed heartily and moved his sword-arm—the hilt caught Kivan on the side of the head and the elf fell heavily.

Suddenly Quoth was swooping downward and croaking angrily at Tazok, gouging at the half-ogre's eyes with his talons. Tazok swung his fists at him, but Quoth avoided them as easily as he had Edwin's swipes the night before.

Kivan struggled to his feet. He wiped the blood out of his eyes, and then ran forward, driving his spear into the half-ogre with all his strength and momentum.

Tazok looked momentarily surprised. Then he slowly bared his teeth in a huge grin, leaned forward, and stabbed Kivan through the chest.

Willow was the only one to see him fall.


	14. More Grief

Once Tazok was dead, the rest of the bandits broke and ran.

Khalid walked over after slitting the half-ogre's throat. Jaheira was working quickly, trying to heal Kivan before he bled too much or the damage took too great a hold, but Khalid somehow knew that it was too late. Xan had crawled over from somewhere and was holding Kivan's hand in both of his own, muttering something in Elvish over him.

Kivan had a look of ecstasy on his face.

---------------------------------

Willow knelt and put her fingers to Kivan's throat as Imoen and Garrick staggered over, supporting a limping Edwin. Kivan smiled up at her, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth. She tried to smile back but couldn't quite manage it.

"Finally," he said, in the closest thing to irony she'd ever heard from him. Her fingers found his pulse. It flickered fitfully. Kivan took a shuddering breath, and then was still.

Willow put her palm against his neck. Something fluttered under it, like a bird trying to free itself. For a moment she thought she felt something like a light mist flowing between her fingers, then the sensation was gone.

"He is dead," said Jaheira.

---------------------------------

Later, after Willow had quietly risen from her kneeling position and wandered off, muttering about "searching for a good place for the grave," Edwin sat on Tazok's hulking corpse and presented his foot to Viconia. Viconia eyed the offending appendage and then looked up to raise a delicate white eyebrow at Edwin.

"I seem to have broken my ankle," he said. "Fix it, if you would. (And be sure to mind the footwear.)"

Viconia's red eyes flickered for a moment before she knelt before him and picked up his foot.

"I have not had a chance to introduce myself, have I?' Edwin remarked in pleasant tones. "My name is Edwin Odesseiron. I would know your full name, as well, to match to your… face."

Viconia paused in her unlacing of his boot and said, "Viconia DeVir." She continued on.

"Ah, yes, very… Drow," he said. "Tell me, then, are all Drow as… striking as you are?" He gave what he hoped was an ingratiating smile, but he suspected it ended up looking more like he was constipated.

He yelped as Viconia "accidentally" wrenched his ankle as she was pulling off the boot. "Ready to make indecent proposals just before a funeral?" she asked. "How utterly despicable of you." She sounded delighted.

"Despicable is my middle name," said Edwin, wincing as she felt the broken bone.

"Actually, it's Judas," said Imoen, passing by. "I saw him writing it somewhere."

Edwin glared at the thief's back as Viconia laughed, rather unkindly.

---------------------------------

They buried Kivan under an oak tree and said the appropriate things. Imoen found some more wildflowers and threw them into the grave again, this time with a large sniffle and much wiping of her nose. They hadn't really known Dynaheir, but Kivan's stealth lessons had made both she and Willow quite fond of the elf.

They came back to see a cloud of ravens descending on Tazok's body, Quoth hopping on the edge of the crowd and egging them on. Willow smiled before she could help it, then silently berated herself.

Willow returned to Taugosz's body to strip it of his plate mail and the large hammer and shield he had wielded. Edwin's arrow had long ago faded, but it had left a large hole where the acid had eaten through the flesh. Minsc stripped a large hobgoblin of its armor, a suit of shiny splint mail, and they all went into Tazok's tent to open the chest.

Willow, Minsc and Khalid sorted through the piles of weaponry, looking for anything of use, while Imoen worked on the trap she had found on the lid of the chest.

"This woulda been really nasty if anyone opened it before I got to it," she remarked as she carefully eased it open. Edwin rolled his eyes at the smug look Willow sent his way.

Inside were more letters. "Don't these people ever burn their correspondence?" asked Jaheira of no one in particular, sounding exasperated. "It is as if they _mean_ to give us a convenient ladder of command."

Imoen snorted as she pulled out a letter and peered at it. "Davaeorn," she said after a moment.

"In Cloakwood," continued Viconia from her own letter.

"With the iron mine," finished Willow, and snorted.

"What is it with iron around here?" asked Imoen, pulling out several more letters and a few spell scrolls.

"The other prisoner said that the Iron Throne is behind all this," said Willow, collecting all the letters and putting them away. "It's a merchant company, he said."

"The prelude to an iron monopoly?" suggested Edwin.

"Perhaps," said Jaheira. She glanced over at Willow, who appeared to be examining her eyes in a rather murky mirror. "It may be part of something bigger, however. We must not rule out any possible theory."

Edwin also looked over at Willow, then back to Jaheira. He narrowed his eyes at her, but she simply looked innocently back for a moment before turning to walk out of the tent.

"B-back to the F-friendly Arm, then, I s-suppose," said Khalid, herding Willow from the tent. Everyone else followed.

---------------------------------

They met a Flaming Fist patrol on the road south and west of the camp. They said they were searching for a missing officer. Willow and Viconia hung at the back of the group, trying to look as nonchalant as possible… though Viconia's thick hood and surreptitious manner and the fact that Willow had a large raven perched on her shoulder wasn't very conducive to the ruse. Jaheira and Khalid distracted the Fist officers by mentioning that the bandit camp had been routed, and that they should expect stragglers to be hanging around the area.

The leader officer looked astonished. "What, you invaded the camp by yourself?" he asked in incredulous tones.

"That is what we said, isn't it? (Honestly, if anyone ever just took us by our word I would doubtless faint in surprise.)" Edwin grumbled.

"Cor, you've done what countless of us couldn't! My superiors'll be hearing about this!"

The encounter ended peacefully and the Fist went trooping off to gather more firepower and investigate the ruins of the camp. Willow sighed in relief as they left.

They reached the Friendly Arm in the evening. The guards eyed them warily, bruised and battered as they were and lugging large sacks full of armor behind them, but let them through the gates. A few moments later and they were inside the common room, with its merry fires and friendly people.

One such friendly person wanted to make small-talk with Willow, but she pushed past him, muttering, "Push off." He frowned at her and walked off, nose in the air.

"Barkeep! Ale, and lots of it!" shouted Willow as she reached the bar. And that was the last the party heard of her for a good bit of time.

---------------------------------

Viconia sat in a dark corner for much of the evening, bothered only by Edwin, who sidled up and sat in the chair next to her.

"Tell, me, Edwin _Judas_ Odesseiron," she began, taking a large sip of her ale and grimacing, "What fascination is this you have with me? I am well aware that I am beautiful even by elven terms, and yet you persist in your belief that I care about your existence."

Edwin gave her his best superior look and said, "I have merely decided that you are the only one worthy of my presence at this moment in time, Drow. And perhaps more, later, if you wish it." He grinned at her.

Viconia eyed his grin, which, rather than salacious, was actually rather boyish, then looked at Willow at the bar. She replied, "Inform me, then… are Thayvian males as… deserving of their supposed renown as you seem to think?"

"This 'Thayvian male' is as red-blooded as his cloak, Viconia, and has left many a concubine gasping under his erotic onslaught," said Edwin smugly.

"I care little for your 'intimate assault', Edwin. I merely wished to know, in case I ran across any _worthy_ Thayvian males." Viconia finished her ale and stalked upstairs.

Edwin sighed and muttered to himself, "(That didn't go quite the way I had imagined.)" He then went back to the bar to order another glass of wine. There he encountered Willow, who was looking as stupid as someone who has consumed large amounts of alcohol in a very short time. Which she had.

"Heya, Eddie!" she exclaimed, turning to him. She waved in the direction of a nervous-looking young man, who took the opportunity of her distraction to sneak away. "Me an' ol' what's-his-face were just talkin' abou' you!" She turned to see that he was gone. "Where'd 'e go?"

"You must have scared him off with the intensity of your… ardor," Edwin remarked, wrinkling his nose as she turned back to him and spilled bear down her front.

Willow giggle-snorted and said, "Speakin' of ardor, you sure are falling all over yerself to get ta Viconia." She grinned up at him and he hoped his wine would come soon, but the bartender was quite busy.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," sniffed Edwin.

"Hah!" Willow banged the bar with her fist in triumphant amusement. Then she grew quieter and turned her bleary eyes to him again. "Wha'… what would you really say, Eddie, if some girl, like me, jus'… walked up to you an' said, 'Eddie, I'm lonely, an' I've got a nice warm bed upstairs if'n you wanna share it!'?"

"I do not deign to associate with anyone who says 'if'n'," replied Edwin, who was feeling very nervous indeed and was turning it into extra sarcasm.

"Mmkay, mmkay, but answer the question," Willow said, looking very gravely at him.

Edwin raised an eyebrow and said, "This warm bed, does it have silken sheets?"

Willow nodded.

"And I assume she is well-groomed and literate?" he continued.

Willow nodded.

"And will laugh at all my witty jokes and understand when I speak of the thaumaturgical theorem of Gridgulf the Murkily Green?" he finished.

Willow nodded.

Edwin carefully listened to the song his hormones, so long neglected, were singing to him before he forced himself to speak. "I would say that you have undoubtedly had entirely too much to drink if you are claiming that this place has silken sheets, and that perhaps you should go to bed. (Alone.)"

Willow, who had worked her way through two more mugs of ale while Edwin considered, turned back to him with what she obviously thought was a sultry smile. "Yer jus' sayin' that, Eddie, 'cause you're much nicer than you think you are, but you know that I know that you know that I know that you know that…" She paused and swayed. "Oh, whatever."

She leaned forward with the intention of giving Edwin a large and undoubtedly sloppy kiss on the lips, missed by about a foot, and instead leaned over and threw up on his boots.

Edwin put his head in his hands and tried not to contemplate the trickling sensation on his right leg.

"That is quite enough," said Jaheira, coming over to pick Willow up.

"I'll tell you when I've h-had enough, Schmajeira!" shouted Willow, waving her arms wildly and nearly taking out a maid as she trotted forward to clean up.

"Yes, yes, this way," said Jaheira, and led Willow upstairs, leaving Edwin to glare at everyone and everything and generally hate his life.

On the second staircase, Jaheira remarked, "When you start flirting with Edwin, of all people, it's time to stop the consumption."

Willow tripped on a step and giggled madly. "E pluribus unum, in vino veritas, QED!" she proclaimed between giggles.

Jaheira sighed heavily as she picked the girl up and continued on. Finally they reached Willow's room, and Jaheira managed to open the door with Willow hanging on her other arm as she tested how far she could lean over without falling on her backside. Which, in her current inebriated state, wasn't far at all.

Quoth rapped on the window with his beak as they entered the room, and Willow staggered over to let him in. The raven flew in, circled once around the room, and settled on a chair in the corner. He cawed at Jaheira, who glared at him.

"Grief will not go away if you drown it in alcohol," said Jaheira as she wrestled with one of Willow's boots.

"D'aww, Jaheershma!" complained Willow. "I'd almost forgotten! Now I gotta go an' drink even more!" She half-rose from the bed before Jaheira pushed her back down and removed her other boot.

"I shudder to think what you might get up to with even more ale in your system," said Jaheira. She pointed to the bed, and Willow reluctantly climbed in. "There are worse men than Edwin, strange as that may seem, who would gladly take you up on your inebriated offers."

"Pfeh!" said Willow.

Jaheira rolled her eyes but tucked the covers up to Willow's chin. Willow looked up at her, bleary-eyed but suddenly serious.

"I miss him," she said.

Jaheira nodded. She contemplated patting Willow's hand or stroking her hair or some other thing that is supposed to be comforting, but settled for saying, "Kivan is surely in a better place now, however."

Willow shook her head, but her lip quivered. "Not Kivan, I know he's alright, he has to be happier than he was." She sniffled. "Gorion."

"Ah," replied Jaheira. She didn't know how to respond to that one… she wasn't sure at all where Gorion was.

"I hate all this death," said Willow. "But I hate most of all that I couldn't give Gorion the time he deserved." She sniffed again and wiped at her nose like a little child. "What if… what if ghouls got him or something?"

"I am sure they must have found his body," said Jaheira, and was surprised to find that a lump was forming in her own throat.

Willow nodded miserably. "I feel strange, Jaheira."

"You _are_ drunk," the druid pointed out.

"Not that," said Willow, sounding annoyed. "I mean, all the time." She looked up at Jaheira again. "My eyes are turning yellow."

Jaheira looked down at Willow, who was giving her the earnest, wide-eyed look of a frightened child, and gently took her by the chin and turned her head so more light was shed on her face from the candle by the bedside. It may have been a trick of the light, but Willow's eyes, once a light green-hazel, had lightened considerably. They were now a yellow-golden tone that almost matched her hair.

Jaheira considered for a few moments. "Perhaps you simply have scurvy," she said finally.

Willow sniggered, then giggled, then guffawed manically, stifling the laughter in her pillow so that Jaheira almost didn't notice when it turned into great, wracking sobs. Then she finally pulled the girl up into a sitting position and held her and muttered vaguely comforting things into her hair.

When Willow quieted to occasional sniffles and gulps, Jaheira said, "Get some sleep. You will feel better in the morning."

Willow nodded against Jaheira's shoulder and lay back down. Jaheira stood up and blew the candle out, plunging the room back into darkness.

"Jaheira?" came Willow's voice from a shadow.

"Yes?"

"I promise I won't be so pathetic tomorrow."

"You are not pathetic, child. Just human." Jaheira patted what she thought was Willow's leg and crept carefully from the room.

Jaheira found Khalid waiting for her in their own room. He, in turn, held her as she spoke of Gorion. He stroked her hair as, like Willow, she finally wept for him.

---------------------------------

The next morning, Willow awoke with a splitting headache and a vision of the bandit camp as seen from midair in her mind's eye. She winced and put a hand to her head. Coolness flowed from the hand and felt as though it were going through her veins, whisking all the alcohol away. The headache gradually lifted. She thought of Hull in Candlekeep and his antidote potion remedies to his own hangovers and shook her head ruefully.

What a way to find out about a new ability, she thought.

Willow left in search of a bath, leaving Imoen sleeping fitfully in her own bed, and came back dripping but feeling human again. She wrung out her hair, braided it, and changed into clean clothes. She looked at the bell-clothes Kivan had given her. Then she unhooked several of the small bells, more like bangles made to jingle as they bounced off each other, and tied them around the ends of each braid. She examined her reflection critically in the mirror, tossed one braid behind her back to hear the jingle, smiled in satisfaction, and left the room.

She ran into Edwin as she descended a staircase. He eyed her apprehensively. She remembered what she'd done the night before. She opened her mouth to say something.

"We must never speak of it again," said Edwin.

Willow closed her mouth and grinned, albeit weakly. "You read my mind, Eddie."

"Don't call me that. (At least not before breakfast.)"

"Sure. Food!" Willow walked downstairs.

"You are clearly a wolverine in a girl's body," replied Edwin, following her.


	15. Detours

(Just a quick thank-you here to anyone who's reviewed, I really appreciate you taking the time to do it. And especially to those of you who have reviewed anonymously, since I can't respond individually to you. Thanks everyone!)

---------------------------

The morning's breakfast was the usual affair: Edwin ate slowly, reading from a book propped against a jug, while Willow ate with abandon and obvious enjoyment next to him. Minsc tried to feed Boo little tidbits, which the hamster politely refused unless they were of a nut-like nature, and Khalid and Jaheira exchanged foods they didn't like for more palatable rations from each other's plates with practiced ease. Imoen appeared from upstairs halfway through the meal, collected a large plate of pancakes, covered them in syrup, and promptly fell asleep in her food. Garrick scribbled in a small leather-bound journal, barely touching his meal. Xan ate sparingly, at best, and Viconia spent most of the meal eyeing Willow with a sort of disgusted awe.

When everyone was essentially done eating (although Willow still chewed absentmindedly on a biscuit slathered with jelly), Xan stood up and called the table's attention to him.

"My friends, I would like to say goodbye. Much as I would love to stay on this pointless quest with you—actually, that's a lie, miserable as life is I'd rather live to be able to call myself 'old'—I feel the need to return home and report recent occurrences." He paused to allow Imoen to groan as she awoke and listened, then paused longer to let her groan even louder as she released the entire left half of her face was covered in sticky syrup. "I am terrible at farewells, but I want you all to know that I have come to regard you all as… people I met."

"Minsc will miss the little elf, just as he misses the other little elf already!" said Minsc sadly from the end of the table.

"Go wash your face, Imoen," suggested Edwin, ignoring Xan.

"Best of luck, then, Xan," said Jaheira, who didn't seem terribly saddened.

"I can wipe it off!" protested Imoen, swiping madly at her skin.

"Y-yes, Xan, b-best of luck," added Khalid, also notably without sadness. "I do hope y-you gain favorable r-renown for your w-work."

"As your teacher I command you to wash your face," said Edwin.

"Surely we cannot be expected to care that this… 'man' is leaving?" queried Viconia.

"What's your being my teacher hafta do with it?" asked Imoen, looking exasperatedly at Edwin, face red and a few wisps of hair sticking to it.

"Surely you could stick around a little longer, Xan?" asked Garrick.

Edwin paused for a moment before saying, in somewhat triumphant tones, "A good mage does not tolerate distracting circumstances if they can possibly avoid them! (Yes, that's a good one.)"

"Still kinda wish I could come with you," said Willow, swallowing the last bit of her breakfast.

Imoen was about to protest when she realized that she felt very, very icky. She huffed and rose from the table to stalk off and find some water.

Xan sighed heavily.

---------------------------

At length, the party decided to travel first south to Beregost before journeying into the Cloakwood. They bid a semi-fond farewell to Xan at the gate of the inn, where he shook hands with Willow, Jaheira and Khalid, waved somewhat morosely to the rest of them, and ventured off. Willow turned to the rest of the party and said, "Well, then. Off to Beregost, I guess."

The trip was significantly less eventful than their first trip to Beregost from the Friendly Arm, though Imoen cheerfully showed Edwin and Garrick the spot where they'd been attacked by the ogre. When she told them how it had found them in the first place, Edwin turned to give Willow a look that was a strange combination of amusement and disapproval. Willow rubbed the back of her neck and looked sheepish while Imoen giggled at her.

With singing out of the question, judging from experience, they had little to do while they traveled except talk (in quiet tones). Garrick and Imoen seemed to be going through an awkward phase, as every time Garrick attempted to speak to her at any length Imoen made up some excuse to go ahead or fall back in the group. Thus, Willow spent most of her time listening to Imoen and Edwin, who were taking the time to talk about various magical theorems Edwin had introduced Imoen to and different magical strategies.

"—And that's why it's bad to cast a Lightning spell indoors," Imoen was finishing as Willow approached from behind.

"Good," said Edwin. "(Though I could have answered that one in my sleep… she is a beginner, however.) And why is it important to keep your spell components fresh and accessible?"

"Well, duh, Eddie!" said Imoen, grinning, "If you didn't you'd be takin' the dirtnap in no time flat!"

"Correct, though I would have been equally satisfied with an answer containing a little less sarcasm," replied Edwin.

"Monkey see, monkey do, Eddie," piped up Willow.

"Har-dee-har," said Edwin. "(Although she does have a point.)"

"What's with the bells, Wil?" asked Imoen, picking up one of Willow's braids from where it had flopped over her shoulder.

Willow looked at the bangles bound up in the leather thong in her hair. "Oh. Just something to remember Kivan by."

Imoen shook the braid so the bells jingled merrily and smiled sadly. "More cheerful than he ever was."

Silence reigned for a few moments before Edwin said, "At least we no longer have to watch Willow make googly-eyes at him. (Yes, it was most disgusting. Elves, pfeh. Supposedly so romantic… he was just perpetually depressed. And repressed. And other things that end in '-ed'.)"

Willow found that she was turning very red as Imoen's grin grew wider and Edwin continued muttering to himself. "I didn't think it was that obvious," she muttered.

Quoth squawked as he landed on her shoulder with a sound like a rock hitting a sack full of leather. _You were pretty smitten, boss_, he said_. I can understand that. Once I met this girl raven, she was real pretty with her feathers all slicked back and black and shiny and—_

"Okay, we get it," said Willow, prompting confused looks from Edwin and Imoen. "Or I get it, anyway," she added lamely.

Imoen changed the subject. "Eddie, when do you think I can cast my first spell?"

"Don't call me that. (My life is a constant exercise in futility.) I believe you are ready for the secret of magic, Imoen."

Imoen's eyes widened and she gave Edwin an almost adoring look. Edwin was visibly gratified. "There's a secret? What is it? Whatisitwhatisitwhatisitwhatisit?"

Edwin told her.

There was a pause, filled only with birdsong and the endless trudge of their boots.

"… that's it?" asked Imoen finally.

"That is it," replied Edwin, nodding sagely.

"You just… concentrate. And it happens?" continued Imoen in tones of disbelief.

"Precisely," said Edwin.

"But… but how is that so hard? I wanna know why that's so hard!" Imoen paused a moment in her marching to stamp her foot.

"If all magic seemed that simple do you think anyone would become a mage?" asked Edwin, sounding superior. "Half the magic-wielders out there are only in it for the flash. They don't understand how wonderful it is to feel a newly-scribed scroll beneath their fingers or the fresh smell of herbs in the morning."

Edwin wiped the dreamy look from his face as he realized that both Imoen and Willow were looking at him with amused expressions on their faces.

"Ahem. Anyway, magic is simple. It's controlling it that requires the training. (And the love. Yes, for love it is.)"

Imoen sighed. "Somehow I thought it would be a lot harder than all that."

Edwin snorted. "It will be, girl, don't overestimate your abilities." And that was that.

The rest of the trip passed amicably enough with Edwin and Imoen resuming their lessons and Willow occasionally adding useless but amusing commentary. It seemed like they were in Beregost in no time, though it was again late dusk when they arrived.

They checked into the Jovial Juggler, somewhat afraid to show their faces at Feldpost's, settled in their rooms, and slept.

---------------------------

The next morning they split into groups, with Khalid and Minsc going to the smithy with the various suits of armor that needed adjusting, Jaheira, Willow, and Imoen to the temple to see what the priest thought of some of the magical items they had found on their quests, and Edwin, Viconia (heavily cloaked) and Garrick to collect more mundane supplies, such as food. Edwin complained liberally but clearly relished picking out various foodstuffs that were completely unsuitable for travel but undeniably luxurious.

The temple outside of town was a flashy affair, with high stained-glass windows and chants drifting through the walls to sound outside. Willow had always found temples peaceful but somewhat scary, and the sirens that apparently provided accompaniment to the chanters made her nervous. The priest was friendly enough, dispensing advice as well as information, but she was glad to get out in the end.

They all met again in the inn in the afternoon, bearing items. They then spent a large amount of time divvying up the equipment that Keldath Ormlyr, the priest at the temple of Lathander, had identified for them. Edwin was particularly smitten with a gold ring with a red gem set in it that Imoen claimed she had "found somewhere" and Keldath had said was a Ring of Wizardry which increased a mage's ability to memorize spells. They all had to admit that it looked quite appropriate on him, once he'd wrestled it past his bony knuckle.

They spent the rest of the day off-duty, wandering the town and looking in shops and taverns. Willow encountered a halfling who told her that a gnoll had stolen his short sword and the he'd pay to get it back. Imoen talked to another who nearly succeeded in picking her pocket, but being practiced in the art herself, she had managed to catch him at it. In repentance, he had told her of a pair of boots that had been grabbed off him by a hobgoblin, claimed he saw a three-headed monkey behind her, and made off with her meager purse while she was distracted.

By dusk those of the party still out were more than ready to call it quits, though Imoen made off into the night under the pretense of returning a purse to someone who had dropped it. Willow, knowing better than anyone that Imoen would usually have simply kept the purse, stayed up late waiting for her friend, who came back bearing prizes beyond that of a simple burglary.

"I snuck into that big house on the north side of town," Imoen said, laying down a long, thin rod with a circular globe at one end and an aura of electricity, the kind you feel just before a particularly violent storm. "This guy had all sorts o' loot!" She emptied a small bag onto the bed, and out spilled rings of all shapes and sizes, along with many gold coins. "He won't miss it, I betcha."

Willow examined a ring by the light of the candle and whistled. "I dunno, Immy, this is pretty expensive stuff."

"Aww, if it was so special he'd have kept it under guard," said Imoen. She grinned. "Oops, he did. I cast Sleep on them. Worked like a charm. Er, literally."

Willow beamed in return. "Wait'll Eddie finds out your first spell was so you could rob some undoubtedly pompous merchant blind."

Imoen chuckled. "Yeah, he'll be delighted!"

---------------------------

Edwin was not delighted, but he was amused, and Willow couldn't help but notice that a proud sort of smile hovered about his lips most of the rest of the morning. It made him look much softer, but she didn't say so, since she knew she'd never hear the end of it.

On a whim, she decided that, since she had heard rumours of a crazy cleric (and the bounty on his head), they should travel west of town. And so they did, with only mild complaining from the rest of the group. No one else seemed keen to rush into Cloakwood.

They geared up, Khalid donning the armor recently worn by Taugosz the bandit and Jaheira wearing the splint-mail of his hobgoblin counterpart, and left town at mid-morning. They traveled for a few hours before encountering a small party of gnolls in a clearing in the trees.

Minsc roared and charged without a second's warning, and they were nearly all cut down by the time anyone else reached them. Khalid killed the last.

"Hey," said Willow, pulling a small sword from a belt around of the gnolls' waists. She examined it and found a small letter P carved into the leather wrapping of the hilt.

"P for Perdue!" said Imoen, who had been with Willow when she had encountered the halfling.

"Hey, sure is!" said Willow. She stuck the sword in her own belt. "I know a certain half-pint who'll be happy to have this back."

"You met someone your own size? Oh, happy day," remarked Edwin, wiping a glop of gnoll blood from his shoulder.

"Har-dee-har," replied Willow, sticking her tongue out at him.

They continued west, finding only a few more gnolls and a pair of hobgoblins who also had a prize they had heard of the other day: A pair of boots, black and slightly strange-looking with metal studs stuck into their leather, but so soft and supple they almost seemed to muffle the noise anyone wearing them made. Imoen squealed in glee and immediately claimed them for her own, and no one made any argument.

They were about to turn back to town when, traveling farther north, they found a large clearing.

It was set with many standing stones with crude runes carved into them at head-height. Around them stood many skeletons and a few zombies. In the middle of the circle of stones stood a short man with a nervous habit of blinking his left eye more times than his right. He was clad in expensive-looking but worn chainmail and bore a very impressive golden hammer that shone through the dirt spread across it.

He seemed to be in deep conversation with a zombie that was standing (or rather, stooping) next to him. The zombie itself, as zombies go, seemed rather bored, although it occasionally groaned or moaned a reply.

The party hid in the bushes and whispered to each other, wondering if they should attack. None of the undead seemed particularly hostile towards anything; in fact, they _all_ looked bored. Even Jaheira didn't think the man himself looked terribly dangerous.

Eventually they decided to send forth Willow, Khalid and Minsc, with the rest staying behind as ranged back-up. The three fighters stood up and ventured forth cautiously. The skeletons turned to look (as best they could) at them with gaping eye-sockets but made no move towards them. The man in the middle didn't notice them until they were standing in front of him, Willow in front and Minsc and Khalid standing slightly behind her.

The man's eyes slowly widened even more than they already were as he stared at Willow, making him look like a dumbfounded fish. His jaw worked as he tried to speak. Willow waited as politely as she could.

Finally he squeaked, "Mother?"

Willow wasn't prepared for that. "What is all this—huh? Mother?"

The man nodded fervently and reached for her hand. She tried not to make a look of disgust when she noticed that they were not the cleanest pair of hands… and she wasn't sure, but she thought there might be blood under the fingernails.

"Mother, it has been so long!" he said, joy permeating his voice. Willow frowned. "Oh, Mother, even your familiar scowl is a welcome sight!"

"Er… yes," said Willow, deciding to play along. "Yes, it is I… your mother. How are you, dear… er…"

"B-Bassilus," hissed Khalid behind her.

"Bassilus! How have you been, Bassilus?" Willow smiled at him vacantly.

Bassilus grinned, revealing rotting teeth, and patted her hand. "Oh, Mother, I've been so lonely! So lonely! But I have found them, Mother, our family! We can all be together again!" He took one hand from hers and waved at the undead scattered around them, who looked distinctly unimpressed.

"Er… yes, dear," said Willow, pretending to wave daintily at the nearby zombie, who eyed her hand hungrily. "They're looking a bit… underfed, but I'm, er, glad they're… back. Safe."

"Well, Mother, we have been essentially exiled for quite a while," said Bassilus, gently berating. Willow took the cue and glared at him. He looked sheepish. "Forgive me, Mother, I meant only that since fleeing Zhentil Keep we have had few resources. But… but you of all people should know that, shouldn't you, Mother?"

"But I did!" said Willow, a little too quickly.

Bassilus eyed her suspiciously. "Where have you been all this time, Mother? Why didn't you come looking for me?" He sounded hurt. He had dropped her hand and Willow looked down slightly to see that his hand was twitching nervously near the hammer he had stuck in his belt.

"Isn't the fact that I'm here now evidence enough that I went looking for you?" she asked in her smoothest tones.

It seemed to work, for a moment anyway, and he stopped looking suspicious for the time being. His expression softened. "I understand, Mother—if anyone ever found out what happened… the scandal it would produce…" His brows knitted again. "Mother, I have the strangest feeling… the strangest feeling…"

Behind her, Minsc shifted uncomfortably as Willow raised a cautionary hand, but it was too much.

"Mother! You're supposed to be dead! You… I saw you cut down myself! Your head rolled over my feet!" Bassilus screeched, causing everyone to wince. The skeletons burst into bony fragments, though the zombies were more resilient.

"Everything is ruined, Mother! Everything!" shouted Bassilus, drawing the hammer. "I'll put it all right again, though, don't worry! I'll fix it all!"

Willow drew her swords as Bassilus sprang forward. Minsc and Khalid leapt to attack the remaining zombies.

Bassilus, in his rage, was swinging wildly, forcing Willow to bend into strange shapes to avoid the blows, but avoid them she did. He threw away his shield after it banged into his jaw, and this gave him greater mobility to that he could come at her faster.

From behind Willow came a volley of arrows and sling-stones, most of which missed or bounced off him, but one arrow lodged in his leg, slowing him down.

Viconia joined the fray, swinging a flail at Bassilus' head and missing. He swung around and caught her in the arm at the elbow; she screamed pitifully as there was a thunderous crack and a flash of lightning spread up her arm.

Bassilus paused at the screaming, as if wanting to savor it. Willow took advantage of this and moved quickly behind him.

She plunged both swords, criss-crossed, into his back before he could react. Blood spattered onto her face as she pushed harder and both sword-points emerged on the other side from his flesh.

"Mama!" cried Bassilus as he fell forward.

Willow put a bloody hand to her face and stood for a moment, wishing he hadn't said that in quite that tone of voice. Or at all. Then she stepped forward and pulled the swords from his body, one foot on his back to provide leverage.

Those who hadn't yet come forward into the circle moved in now, sifting through the blasted bones or, in Jaheira's case, moving quickly forward to Viconia, who was lying in the dirt and twitching, her arm bent at a positively terrifying angle.

Edwin moved up beside Willow and looked down at Bassilus' still body.

"Well," he remarked after a moment, "That is certainly enough to discourage you from ever having children, isn't it?"

Willow broke into a snorting giggle.

"That was horrible," said Imoen, coming up to join them. Garrick was some steps away, scribbling in his journal again.

Willow nodded. Imoen looked at her.

"You're frightening, Wil," she said.

Willow's eyebrows raised themselves almost to her hairline as she stared at Imoen.

"I believe what the girl is trying to say is that you seem to have a primitive, war-painted look about you," said Edwin, pulling a small mirror from his pocket and handing it to Willow. Willow took it and looked at herself.

A bloody handprint had worked its way onto her flesh, presumably from her earlier gesture. A bit of palm spread across the bridge of her nose and there were spotty fingerprints on the outer edges of her face.

"I am frightening," she said. This combined with her newly-colored eyes made her feel even more like a sideshow at a circus. A really scary circus.

Imoen handed her a handkerchief, which she accepted gladly.

After she had finished wiping off her face and handed Imoen her bloodied handkerchief back with an apologetic smile (Imoen grinned and made a loud note to wash it thoroughly later), and Edwin's mirror back with a mixture of a smirk and a grin (he sniffed disdainfully and looked in it before putting it back in his pocket, making a silent note to get a haircut), Willow bent down to examine the hammer than had done Viconia so much damage (Viconia was currently screaming at the top of her lungs as Jaheira tried to get her arm in the right position in order to heal it).

It was a large warhammer, golden in color, and out of Bassilus' hands it seemed to shine much more brightly. After she'd wiped off the dirt and grime on it, it shone even brighter. It was a glorious weapon, and had the same aura of electricity about it as the wand Imoen had the found the other day.

Garrick came over and gazed in awe at the hammer. "I know that weapon!" he said. "It was wielded by a great knight who was separated from her love by the war they were both fighting in… it's been lost until now!"

Willow looked at the hammer and decided that was an appropriate story for it. Undoubtedly Bassilus had taken it from the Keep when he'd fled… though perhaps he had killed the former wielder of it, and they were even now cursing the party from the bones beneath their feet…

Willow shrugged and walked over to a zombie to see if it had anything of use on it.

"This is truly disgusting," said Edwin, pulling his foot up from the ground and watching a long string of zombie-juice pull up with it. "(I think I'm going to be sick.)"

"That's what you get when you're an adventurer, Eddie," said Willow, waggling a finger at him and grinning.

"Put the finger back," said Edwin, smirking down at her.

"Yer no fun," she grumbled, and put the former zombie's finger back on the ground where she had found it.

When Jaheira reported that Viconia was whole again, Willow walked over to her. The Drow was lying on the ground, staring up at the sky and panting. She turned her head to look at Willow as the girl approached.

"I will be taking that," she said, lifting her good arm and pointing at the hammer. "Anyone who wishes to protest can report to me after I've rested and I will rip out their spleen," she added.

"No one would wish to deprive you of anything," muttered Edwin. "(Although I admit it would give me a great sense of satisfaction.)"

"It's all yours, Viconia," said Willow. "But I think it might be a good idea for you to get some lessons from Minsc, first."

Minsc beamed and waved Boo's tiny paw in the air at Viconia.

Viconia scowled.


	16. A Little More Conversation

Imoen was feeling guilty.

She'd been avoiding Garrick ever since before they'd raided the bandit camp and she could tell he was starting to get a little huffy about it. He'd been distracted just after Kivan's death (she suspected he was writing a ballad about it—a really badly-rhymed one, probably), but now he had started giving her meaningful looks behind Willow's back. Or behind Edwin's back, depending on whom she was talking to at that moment.

They were camped on a cliff overlooking the sea (after the incident with Bassilus, Willow had declared, "Let's go to the beach!" which had met with somewhat more adamant protest by Khalid and Jaheira and indifference from everyone else) after a long debate in which Willow had finally worn Jaheira down to letting them stay at least one night near the ocean. A light breeze was winding its way through the trees above them and Willow was standing on the edge of the cliff, looking out at the sea. Imoen suspected that the ocean had a particularly strong pull on Willow, since even in Candlekeep she had spent hours simply staring at it; it was the only thing that could keep her attention for long when she was younger, and even as she grew older it had apparently been more interesting than their lessons. Imoen liked it well enough but she didn't see how it was nicer than a book.

Anyway, Willow was standing on the edge of the cliff, looking very dramatic as a silhouette against the dying light, and she was talking to Edwin beside her, who also cut a rather dashing figure; tall, with his robes whipping in the wind and leaning slightly against his staff. Garrick had noticed this and seemed to be enjoying the picture, as Imoen would expect of a bard, but now he was looking at her and walking over to her and oh gods he was sitting next to her and she didn't really wanna talk to him and—

"Heya, Garrick!" she said, very cheerfully.

"Hello there, Imoen," he replied, in equally sugary tones.

Silence.

Then, both at the same time: "We need to talk."

Again, at the same time: "You go first."

"No, you."

"Um," they finished.

Imoen waited but Garrick seemed to be waiting for her. "Look, Garrick," she began.

"I know what you're going to say," said Garrick.

"Then what'd you wait for me to say it for?" she asked, somewhat irritably.

"Sorry. I know that you just think of me as a friend. That's all any girl ever thinks of me as. I just… hoped you might be different. You're special, Im. Not like the other girls."

"The other girls all giggle inanely and bat their eyelashes at you, it's not much of a competition," said Imoen.

"Exactly!" replied Garrick. He sighed. "I'm just a pretty-boy bard," he muttered, throwing a stick on the fire.

Imoen thought this was strangely perceptive of him, but didn't say so. Instead she said, "C'mon, Garrick, you're special too! You just… er, move a bit too fast."

Garrick looked up at her hopefully from his moping posture. "You mean if I slowed it down you'd eventually like me that way?"

Imoen bit her lip. "Er, no. Sorry," she added.

Garrick sighed again and slumped.

"Look, Gar," she tried, "You're a nice guy. You just need to get it that it's better to be friends first, y'know?"

Garrick nodded.

"I mean, not every girl has to be a potential object of affection. Some girls are just fun to be with!" she continued.

Garrick nodded again, looking slightly uplifted.

"And I'm sure if you work on your rhyming a little or get rid of it altogether tons of girls will want to listen to you sing!" she finished.

Garrick nodded yet again. "It was pretty pathetic, wasn't it?" he said. They both giggled.

After a moment Garrick slapped his knee, startling Imoen a bit. "You're right!" he said, determination leaking from his pores. "I'm going to get out there and strut my bardic stuff! So to speak."

"You do that, Garrick!" said Imoen, making what she hoped was a "you can do it!" sort of gesture.

"I'm going to enter contests!" he continued.

"Yeah!" she exclaimed.

"Send manuscripts to publishers!"

"Yeah!"

"Leave the party once we reach Beregost!"

"Yea—wait. What?"

"Well, I can't do all that while I'm off adventuring, now can I?" he said.

Imoen was slightly disappointed. "Erm, well, I guess not… what about your magic lessons?"

"Ah, you know I'm not that great at it. Don't worry, Immy, I've got just the thing in mind to rocket me to the spotlight. And I'm sure you'll find it interesting, too." He winked, which, she had to admit, was kinda cute.

"Well, okay," she said, smiling at him. "Just wait till we get to Beregost, we still need you out here in the wilderness."

Garrick snorted good-naturedly. They both knew perfectly well that he was no great shakes at adventuring.

-------------------------------------------

That night, Willow had another dream.

It consisted mostly of having a strange, disjointed conversation with a ghostly Kivan. She tried to tweak his ear once and her hand passed right through it, though it didn't stop him from directing a slightly annoyed look at her. Then he shook his head, smiled, and walked into the distance. It was strangely comforting.

She awoke, smiled, but couldn't get back to sleep. Instead she took over the watch from Jaheira, who looked like she could use the extra rest.

-------------------------------------------

That night, Edwin also had another dream.

His seemed to consist mostly of a typical lesson with Imoen, though in an actual classroom, and Willow kept barging in on them. Imoen would be selecting a spell component and Willow would slam open a nearby door and come waltzing in, a huge grin on her face. Or he himself would be directing Imoen to a passage in a book and Willow would snatch it out of his hands and look at it and nod extravagantly, mocking him. Or she would simply do silly things while he was trying to concentrate, like convincing Imoen to dance with her around his desk or singing at the top of her lungs next to him or sitting on his lap and playing with his beard…

Dammit. He'd woken up. And now he couldn't go back to sleep. He sat up, rubbing at his head (his pillow, or rather, his cloak, had come out from under his head while he slept), moved over to sit by the fire, and noticed too late that Willow was already up. She waved cheerily at him. Quoth stared at him from a branch above his head.

Argh.

He waved back, but it turned into more of a shooing motion. She grinned and moved to sit next to him. He stifled a groan.

"So, Eddie," she said in low tones so as not to wake the others.

"Nngh," he replied.

"We've never really had a real conversation, have we, Edwin?" she asked. The full force of her attention bore down on him and he only just kept himself from twitching.

"What would call that bit by the seaside earlier, then?" he asked.

"You told me what to make for dinner," she said, raising an eyebrow at him. She seemed to do that a lot. Then again, so did he.

"Is that not a conversation? And what would you call that little interlude at the Friendly Arm?" he added.

"That wasn't a conversation, it was words leading up to a very embarrassing instance of me being violently sick on your shoes, and thank you so very much for bringing up that painful memory. While you're at it, why don't you give me a nice little cut right there on my kneecap and pour lemon juice in it?" She didn't really seem all that upset. She seemed amused more than anything.

He looked at said kneecap, which was bony but filled out her legging rather nicely, and pursed his lips for lack of anything better to do or say.

"Anyway," she said. There were a few moments of silence as Edwin tried to get himself into a sleeping frame of mind and Willow waited for him to say something.

"So what's your worst fear in the world?" she asked finally.

He knitted his brows at her. "Do you always start conversations like this?"

Willow considered. "Pretty much, yeah."

"(I should have known not to ask.) I don't see what business it is of yours."

"C'mon, Eddie," she said. "Don't you ever get lonely? Just wanna talk to someone?"

He didn't answer.

"Mmkay, fine. I'll just… sit here and keep watch." She idly picked a blade of grass and tore it apart bit by little bit.

Edwin watched her fingers decimate the hapless bit of plant.

He thought about answering "You," to her question, but that was just asking for trouble. "Heights. And death," he said finally, which was equally true.

"Hmm?" Willow asked.

"I fear death," he said. He wasn't precisely sure why he was telling her this. Unless he was so brilliant as to gather information from her (and surely this would lead to his discovering her weaknesses) even while he was feeling like a wagon had run over him. That thought cheered him up a little.

"Ah," she said. She considered for a few moments. "Yes, that makes sense."

Edwin felt slightly insulted at this. "What is that supposed to mean? (Is she implying that I am a coward? I am not a coward! Merely a survivalist.)"

Willow shook her head. "Nah, Eddie. It just… fits."

Edwin felt the need to explain himself. "I don't just fear death of the body. I fear…" he searched for the words. "I fear the death of ideas. Of memories. As long as the idea of one's existence persists it doesn't matter where the body goes. (Why the hells am I telling her this, anyway?)"

Willow gave him a faint smile and nodded.

After a moment Edwin said, "Well?"

"Well what?" she asked, eyes out to the ocean again.

"What do you fear most?" he persisted, feeling idiotic but also curious.

"Oh. Well, spiders, as you already know. Always hated them. Damn things, the way they leer at you…" She shuddered. "Also death. Also loss of freedom. That probably most of all."

Hmm. Interesting. "Hmm," he said. "Interesting."

"Isn't it, though?" replied Willow.

They spent a few more moments in almost amicable silence. Then Willow said, "How's Immy doing with her lessons?"

Edwin snorted. "I have no doubt that you heard of her first actual use of magic even before I, her instructor, did. But… she is doing very well." He couldn't keep a bit of vague affection from entering his voice, dammitall. Willow was grinning at him in an infuriatingly knowing manner.

"I like you, Eddie," she said suddenly. "You're kind of a bastard sometimes but you're a lot more likeable than most people I meet, and lately I've met a lot."

"Oh," he said. He couldn't really think of anything else to say, since there seemed to be a fire going on in the back of his brain that was apparently eating up all his language capabilities.

Willow seemed satisfied with that. At length he stood up and went back to his bedroll, feeling suddenly sleepy.

"'Night, Eddie," said Willow.

He considered telling her not to call him that, but decided to just let it be since there was obviously no stopping those two. Instead he said, "Goodnight."

-------------------------------------------

The next day they explored an old abandoned lighthouse. Or rather, Willow marched into it and the rest of them followed for lack of anything better to do. It was in a high state of disrepair, staircases creaking ominously and large rips in the rotting fabric remaining. Willow went up the staircase to the actual light, saying it was probably too dangerous for more than one person to go (and it probably was), and came back to report nothing out of the ordinary other than some broken panes.

They moved into the small house attached at the base to the tower, which was dark and gloomy and smelled somewhat of old blood. Imoen found a lamp and lit it, which helped, but all they found was an old, torn-up diary, now indecipherable, and a cloak. The cloak was in strangely good condition and was decorated with what seemed to be a ruff of wolf-hair around the collar. Willow looked at her own cloak, tattered from the week's various big events, and gave the rest of them a meaningful look. She claimed it after Garrick and Imoen had given it a thorough examination to make sure it wasn't enchanted to make one's guts fall out or anything.

Finding nothing else to catch their interest, and thinking they should definitely head to Cloakwood now, they left the lighthouse and began traveling east back towards Beregost. On the way they encountered a few more gnolls, but otherwise the trip was uneventful. They reached the town a few hours later, had a pint at the Jovial Juggler (where they all made liberal fun of Willow and Edwin and their last foray into the world of ale), and listened to Garrick as he explained what he was going to do.

"Well," said Willow as he finished. "Good luck, I s'pose."

Garrick smiled shyly at her. "Thank you. Um, thank you all for letting me travel with you. It's been… very educational."

"That's one way to put it," said Imoen, grinning. They all laughed, even Edwin and Viconia, though theirs were more of a restrained chuckle.

"I've got some ideas as to how to gain a bit of fame," said Garrick, also grinning now. "Maybe I'll even have gotten someone to help fund them next time I see all of you… if I see all of you again, anyway. I'm heading to the Gate," he added.

"I've always wanted to see Baldur's Gate," said Willow thoughtfully.

"Me too!" said Imoen.

"Maybe after Cloakwood we can make a detour to go there," finished Willow.

"Perhaps I'll see you all again, then." Garrick shook everyone's hand, saluted them, and marched into the crowd.

"And now I needn't worry about teaching him," said Edwin after a moment. Everyone chuckled.

-------------------------------------------

After Willow had ingested a few more pints and Jaheira had managed to drag her away from the bar, they headed north. On their way out of town, they stopped in the Burning Wizard tavern, where Willow found Perdue, the halfling she had spoken to the other day, and presented him with his sword. He was glad they'd killed the gnolls that stole it from him, at least, and gave them a purse of fifty gold. Willow thought that was a pretty good reward. Better than Hull's lousy recompense for all the times she'd fetched his sword, anyway. Imoen conveniently "forgot" about the halfling that had mentioned her new boots, and so they headed out of town.

They turned west just shy of the Friendly Arm, and soon found themselves in much thicker forest. The trees were twice as big as they had been anywhere else and the canopy seemed to have a special kind of gloom that was creepy but still beautiful. Jaheira, Minsc, and Willow were obviously in their element here. The rest just complained about the bugs.

They encountered a group of tasloi, which attacked them, and after the battle they found another cloak, this one a strange, shimmery black material. They gave it to Imoen to examine and try out her new Identify spell while Edwin muttered in the background. Imoen claimed the cloak would help in "sneaky endeavors," and so claimed it for herself.

They marched through the gigantic trees for a while before settling down to camp for the night. Several times they thought they heard a chittering noise somewhere, but any time they investigated there was nothing. Willow was reminded unpleasantly of the giant spiders in the Nashkell mine, and spent the rest of the night curled up at a strategic location between Imoen and Edwin, barely getting a wink of sleep.

-------------------------------------------

Edwin sat on a nearby tree-stump and pulled out his journal to record recent events.

So far the trip through Cloakwood had proven to be uneventful, except for Willow practically hanging on anyone nearby any time she heard anything even remotely insectoid in nature. That meant, since she was often walking by him and trying to get him to engage in conversation, that she was often grabbing him around the arm and looking terrified, which he had to admit he didn't mind overly much, except that she had a grip like the jaws of death.

They had met an elf named Coran on a bridge early on the first day they'd been in the forest, who had beamed winningly at them and attempted to flirt with anything female nearby while also trying to explain the reason he was out there. Viconia had sent a glare his way that could peel potatoes, Jaheira had rolled her eyes and ignored him, but Willow and Imoen had been quite taken with him, or at least had seen the potential in him.

"I see the potential in you," Willow had said.

"Yeah," Imoen had agreed. "Potential for a great joke."

"Nah, I think he's already a joke," disagreed Willow.

Edwin had liked her much more after that.

"I do believe I'm being made fun of," Coran had said.

"I do believe you believe right," replied Imoen.

"He's perceptive, I like that in a man," said Willow behind her hand to Imoen, just loudly enough for Coran to hear it.

"Yeah, it's not every day you meet a guy who actually _knows_ when he's being insulted," Imoen replied, also behind her hand.

They both giggled.

In the end, Coran had bid them farewell and hastily made his way in the opposite direction, looking like a man under attack. Which he had been.

Edwin peered at the recent entries he'd made for the new members of the group.

Viconia DeVir 

Drow Elf. Approximate height: Five feet, five inches. Approximate weight: Elvish build, but curvier than most. Age: Unknown

Beautiful even by elf terms. Alas, exceptionally snotty. Sarcastic, antisocial, and selfish also good adjectives for her.

(He ignored the fact that those words could just as easily apply to him.)

Minsc 

Human. Approximate height: Six feet, eleven inches. Approximate weight: More than enough to stun an elephant should he decide to tackle it. Age: 20-30ish.

Addled idiot. Talks to hamster. Hamster more intelligent than he is, apparently.

Edwin hadn't bothered making an entry on Xan. He made note of Kivan's death, however. He also made note of his relief at not having to watch Willow moon over him. It had been terribly annoying for some reason.

Quoth landed on his shoulder and croaked in his ear. Edwin turned his head to stare at the raven. The raven stared back.

They sat like that for a few moments before Quoth tilted his head and starting running his beak through Edwin's hair.

Edwin waved him off irritably and the raven flapped over to Willow, where he began the same treatment on her. Willow looked slightly pained at the hard beak, but continued talking to Imoen, who giggled and went on with what she'd been saying.

Edwin looked down and saw that there was a long, shiny black feather on his lap. He picked it up. He wondered if Quoth had any noxious diseases he could catch from the feather. Then he put it in his pocket with a vague notion of making it into a quill sometime.

-------------------------------------------

They continued on through the forest and on the second day encountered a large cabin in the middle of a grove. An accordingly large man was standing outside it, looking worried.

He looked surprised to see them, but held up one hand in greeting. "Hail, there, travelers!" he said when they were close enough to hear him. "What are you doing out here in the middle of the wilderness?"

"I could ask you the same thing," said Willow. She was in the lead, as she often was these days, and Jaheira and Khalid seemed happy to let her deal with people so far.

"Admittedly, I do sound a bit of a hypocrite, don't I?" replied the man. "My friends and I own this hunting lodge here."

"A bunch of big-city merchants who like to come out here and kill defenseless animals every so often?" asked Jaheira from Willow's right-hand side, glaring at him.

The man looked insulted. "My dear lady, the animals we hunt are not defenseless," he said. "Great cats and bears and such that would as soon kill you as look at you!"

"That would as soon run away as bother fighting you," replied Jaheira.

The man shook his head. "Believe as you like, dear lady. I wonder, however, if you chaps might help me with something?"

"(Why is it that no one can see that this group is dominated by females?)" muttered Edwin.

"'Dominated' is right," said Viconia, sounding delighted. "At last you know your place, male."

Edwin rolled his eyes but didn't say anything because he still wanted to have a chance with her.

"Yes, excuse me, terribly sorry. Would you ladies and gents help me with something? I am Aldeth Sashentar, by the way." He held out his hand to shake Willow's.

Willow shook it. "I'm Willow, and these are my companions whose names you probably won't remember anyway," she said. Jaheira snorted.

"Ah, yes. I'm having a slight… druid problem, you see."

"Yeah, we already heard you arguing with Jaheira," said Imoen, grinning.

"Aha," said Aldeth. "I'm afraid these aren't your regular druids. Shadow Druids."

Only Jaheira and Khalid gave him the appropriate outraged looks he'd been expecting. Willow stared at him.

"Shadow Druids believe that man has no right to co-exist with nature," explained Jaheira before Aldeth could say anything. "They also believe that violence is permissible and even necessary when dealing with non-druids."

"The ruffians have threatened to kill me and my companions," said Aldeth, his chest inflating so that he looked like an angry chicken.

"That's absolutely terrible," said Willow, trying to be polite. "What do you expect us to do about it, though?"

Aldeth deflated. "Well… I don't know. You look like adventurer types. I think I may even have heard a story or two in the Friendly Arm inn on the way down here from Baldur's Gate of you people. Perhaps you could just… er… intimidate them a little?" He looked at Quoth, perched on Willow's shoulder as usual, as the bird stared at him with one beady black eye. "I don't suppose it'll be terribly hard," he added. Quoth clicked his beak at him.

Willow was about to respond when a twig cracked behind them. The party turned to see that there was a group of five unpleasant-looking men arrayed behind them. They all glared.

"You men stand aside," said the apparent leader of the group.

"(I repeat: Group mostly female. Are none of these men familiar with the basic differences of anatomy?)" muttered Edwin.

"Most probably they are more familiar with them than you are, wizard," murmured Viconia, smirking.

Edwin glared at her but still didn't say anything.

"Stand aside or perish for your association with these destroyers of nature!" said the lead man again. "Make your choice!"

"Okay, then," said Willow. She moved forward to stand at the front of the group. "I will."

She drew her swords and attacked.


	17. Displays of Might

The battle with the druids was short but bloody. Spells flew through the air as Willow ran forward to the attack. Her now-daily practice sessions with Khalid and Minsc were beginning to show in her swordwork, and she wasn't nearly as random in her strikes as she had been. Imoen managed to fire off a Magic Missile, gasping in surprise as the small pink orbs spewed from her hands and into the chest of a druid, knocking him flat.

Jaheira cast a spell to bless the party with increased strength and aim and then charged forward to swing her staff into the leader Shadow Druid's head. He fell and didn't get up. Viconia hurled sling-stones from the back of the group and Khalid was engaged with another druid who seemed to have cast a protective spell on himself, as he was glowing brightly. Another druid elbowed Willow in the face (Edwin hit him with a stream of fire while she was distracted) and Minsc was hit with a sling-stone before the fight was over. Even Quoth joined in, swooping and diving at the druids, trying to distract them.

Willow repaired her broken nose herself while Jaheira healed a gash on Minsc's face and Viconia grudgingly healed a sling-bullet wound on Edwin's chest. Edwin grumbled about the rip in his robes while Willow realized that she felt up to healing a second time and helped Imoen with her injured hand.

Aldeth had retreated to the door of the cabin. Willow twitched her newly-healed nose, winced, and marched up to him.

"Well, now that we've done your dirty work, I think some kind of reward is in order," she said. Edwin nodded.

"Er, yes," Aldeth said. He looked slightly nervous. "Here, take this potion." He handed her a strange, striped bottle. She eyed it and then looked back up at him, looking expectant. "Er… and this gold," he added. "I'm afraid it's all I have at the moment." He emptied the contents of his purse into her hand.

"Much obliged," said Willow, putting the gold in her own purse. She saluted him and began walking.

"Er, if you're ever in Baldur's Gate, come to the Seven Suns trading coster!" Aldeth called after them. "I'll be sure to connect with you some useful people!"

Willow waved and kept walking. Imoen shouted, "Thanks!" and ran to catch up.

"We could have negotiated, child," Jaheira was saying to Willow. "Shadow Druids they may be, but it doesn't mean they don't know the meaning of the word 'diplomacy'."

"I wouldn't bet on that," said Edwin.

"Neither would I," replied Willow, nodding. "It was obvious they were just going to attack us. And I like getting the jump on that kind of thing."

Jaheira shook her head but didn't protest further.

"It is good to gain the upper hand as quickly as possible in a fight," remarked Edwin. "(A strangely intelligent strategy, for her. Though somewhat lacking in finesse.)"

Willow laughed, which everyone took as a good sign.

div align"center" ------------------------------ /div 

Cloakwood, as it turned out, was an exceptionally large forest. In other words, it would take days to travel through. Shadow Druids, bent on revenge, attacked them at several points, but the party was getting stronger, and the fights took less out of them. Willow in particular seemed to be developing her strength at far greater speeds than should be normal, though she didn't seem to notice. She took up her rangering lessons with Minsc again, and Jaheira took it upon herself to help Willow learn how to use her healing gift to the fullest (or at least as full as twice a day could get). While Minsc taught her to heal animals, Jaheira taught her to heal humans. And humanoids, of course.

Imoen, also seemed to have developed a voracious appetite for anything magical. Once she'd gotten a few spells down there was no stopping her from scribing anything else she could get her hands on, and Edwin almost had to forcibly restrain her from wasting a page in her spellbook with a completely useless "Hair Into Snakes" spell she'd picked up from a gnome in Beregost at some point.

Willow and Viconia seemed to be talking much more, also, and seemed to have struck up a tentative friendship. Viconia wasn't sure what to think of trusting a girl less than half her age, but Willow had saved her life, or at least helped her save her own, and therefore thought it worth a try. Besides, if she was to survive on this side of the world she would need close allies. And the girl was quite amusing when she wanted to be.

So, in-between lessons and conversations or even during such things, they walked. And walked. And walked some more. Occasionally, Willow and Imoen (Imoen first donning her cloak to cover up her bright pink clothing) would scout ahead, sneaking through the trees like a couple of ghosts. They usually only saw more trees, though one day they came upon a circle of stones.

The grove seemed to be slightly overrun; vines crawled up the stones in a slow conquest and weeds grew every which-way in every nook and cranny they could find. There didn't seem to be any human or monstrous activity. Nothing moved there.

Willow and Imoen looked at each other and silently agreed to fetch the others, and especially Jaheira.

"It looks to be an abandoned druid grove," whispered Jaheira later as they crouched in the bushes.

"No, ya think?" said Imoen. She and Willow grinned at each other behind Jaheira's back.

"Insolence is only so endearing, child," answered Jaheira, though she sounded amused more than anything. "I suppose we should go and investigate instead of lurking in the shadows."

The party moved forward cautiously into the circle. Nothing jumped out at them and threatened to eat their livers, and so they relaxed slightly, but still they kept their eyes peeled.

"Maybe we should sleep here tonight," said Willow.

Jaheira shrugged. "Perhaps… I suppose if it is abandoned we will not be disturbing any rituals or somesuch thing."

They decided to make camp. It was nearing sunset and they probably wouldn't find a more ready-made place to sleep anyway. A campfire was quickly constructed in the middle of the stone circle and Willow and Jaheira went hunting, coming back with a brace of rabbits.

After dinner, they relaxed. Quoth began telling Willow another Raven legend, this one about how Raven stole the moon, and Willow translated for those of the party who couldn't hear him. He was just finishing when suddenly the grove was set on its ear in a rush of activity.

People streamed from all directions into the clearing. None of them seemed to notice the party until they were perhaps two steps away, and then one of them said, "Hey, the fire's already going, man!"

The party stood and waited, ready to reach for their weapons. One of the people coming into the grove, a man with more hair than he apparently knew what to do with, pointed at them and said, "You made a fire!"

"Er… yes?" said Imoen.

"Hey, thanks!" said another, a tall woman.

"Er… you're welcome?" said Willow.

With that, everyone seemed to accept the party's presence and worked around them. The companions peered around confusedly as the people painted themselves with blue designs and braided hair and did other strange things, apparently preparing for something. A tall man walked up to them and smiled a gentle smile.

"Welcome, Brothers and Sisters. We thank you for jump-starting the ritual. You see, we are a druid enclave."

"Well, that explains much. (Like the lack of personal hygiene.)" Edwin apprehensively eyed a man nearby who seemed to be sweating quite a lot.

"Exactly what kind of druids are you?" asked Jaheira.

"We are a small sect of nonviolent peace-makers," said the head druid. "We are the last bastion of nonviolence against the Shadow Druids in this forest, actually."

"So 'nonviolent' means 'too lazy to weed the grove', is that it?" said Edwin.

The man smiled down at Edwin, and Willow noticed that his eyes were slightly glazed. "We appreciate nature in all its forms, including weeds."

"(I see. In other words, you are too lazy to weed but you can't quite admit it.)"

"Anyway, Brothers and Sisters, you are welcome to stay for the dancing and the fertility rituals that come after. We would welcome more participants."

Edwin perked up. "Fertility rituals?"

The man nodded.

"Interesting. It would be an… intriguing study to see these… rituals. Perhaps even participate."

"I am glad you feel that way," said the head druid as everyone but Minsc and Edwin rolled their eyes. "I will give you over to Moonflower and Blossom, they are our 'public relations administration', so to speak. If you need me, simply ask for Greybeard." Two young girls with impossibly wide grins and very long hair stepped up, wearing loose blouses with excessive embroidery and bell-shaped pants.

"Like, hi!" said one.

"Yeah, hi!" said the other.

"I'm Moonflower!" said the first. "You can tell 'cause I, like, wear a Moonflower in my hair." She pointed to a white lily-shaped flower just above her temple.

"And I'm Blossom!" said the second. "You can tell 'cause I, like, blossom with the morning light, y'know?"

The party looked at each other with identical expressions of disbelief.

"You're, like, completely right to be so awestruck by our grove," said Moonflower.

"Yeah, it's totally groovy!" gushed Blossom.

"It, like, is?" said Imoen. Willow nudged her with her elbow.

"Well, of course, silly!" said Moonflower. "Look around you!"

They looked around. They mostly saw hairy people with strange designs painted on them and glazed expressions.

"Alright, say I wanna get some of that blue stuff on me," said Willow, intrigued. "Can I?"

"Like, sure!" said Blossom. "It's only woad, y'know! It's not, like, some secret recipe or anything. Let's, like, get you set up!" She held out a hand, which Willow politely declined, and they wandered off into the crowd.

Jaheira sighed and rubbed her temples. "I suppose we have no choice but to stay now."

"W-what is this about d-dancing?" asked Khalid, putting a hand on his wife's shoulder.

"Oh, it's, like, the best!" said Moonflower. "It's, like, wild an' free, y'know?"

"Wild and free, you say?" said Edwin. Imoen elbowed him in the gut. "Ow! (Ow!) I was simply making sure I heard correctly! (She is lucky she is my student, otherwise I would be forced to kill her. As it is, once I decide she's been taught enough I will set a fireball on her while she sleeps.)"

" i Totally /i wild and free!" said Moonflower. "It's gonna start in a bit, then you'll see!"

Imoen went off in search of Willow. Jaheira considered crawling into the ground and hoping these so-called "druids" would go away, but settled for retreating into the bushes with her gear and Khalid and burying her face in the crook of Khalid's neck and lamenting her bad luck. Edwin engaged Moonflower in conversation while Viconia wondered if she could hide behind Minsc and perhaps not be noticed and roped into anything idiotic. Minsc was pondering getting himself painted.

Willow and Imoen came back, grinning, blue designs covering every inch of skin they could find. They'd abandoned their shirts (and in Willow's case, armor) and simply wore their tunics to provide more space on their arms. Edwin quirked an eyebrow at them but only got cheeky grins in return.

The night proceeded. Druids of all shapes and sizes danced around a now raging bonfire. It seemed to consist mostly of whirling and twirling and swinging your partner, but towards the end it became one strange mass of hopping and screaming and odd uses of limbs. Edwin escaped participation until Willow and Imoen grabbed him, one on each arm, and threw him into the mass, grinning like oddly friendly skulls, and he was forced to move along with the crowd and hold sweaty hands until he could leap out of the fray. After that he decided no fertility rituals were worth this and retreated to the edge of the grove, where he found Viconia praying very fervently to Shar. He caught the words, "Please, Shar, just one or two lightning bolts and then the stupidity would end! Yes, I i know /i it's not really worth your trouble…" He slumped to the ground at the foot of a tree and waited for it to be over.

Eventually Willow and Imoen staggered over, giggling like madwomen and nearly knocking each other over as they attempted to keep their balance. Edwin tried not to pay attention to the way the blue designs swept over their collarbones and down their chests to disappear in their necklines (not that either of them had much in the way of chests anyway, but it was the principle of the thing), and he made an extra effort not to even look at Imoen until she'd twitched her tunic up.

"That was… strange," said Imoen, lying on the ground. "But fun!"

"Did you try any of that strange pipeweed?" asked Willow, collapsing beside her. Imoen shook her head. "I think it must've been way too old, 'cause I feel really weird… is there actually a pink elephant behind you?"

Imoen peered over her shoulder. "I'm pretty sure there isn't," she said.

"Oh." Willow shrugged. "Oh well. Hi there, Eddie!" She thumped his boot.

Edwin stared at the two of them. "I assume you are done with your reveling?"

"Oh yeah," said Imoen. "Couldn't do any more, too tired."

"And by the way, Eddie," said Willow with an impish smile, "There weren't any actual fertility rites."

"Oh no?" said Edwin.

"Nah, they were all too busy smoking that strange stuff," said Willow.

"I always thought druids did their rituals naked, anyway," said Imoen.

"Maybe they figured they shouldn't with guests," said Willow.

"I dunno, I think I saw way more flesh than I really needed to," giggled Imoen.

They collapsed in a fit of laughter as Edwin rolled his eyes and Viconia wished Shar had answered her prayers.

"Where're Khalid and Jaheira?" said Willow after a moment.

"I think they're engaging in their own little 'fertility ritual' over there," said Imoen, pointing.

"Glurgh," said Edwin.

Minsc appeared from the circle. He also had been covered in woad and was wearing a very large grin.

"Ah, that was fun!" he said. "Boo is a little dizzy, though, aren't you Boo?"

Boo staggered across Minsc's shoulder and tried to climb down his arm, but fell off halfway down. Minsc caught him and put him in a pocket.

"A little dark and quiet should help, Boo," he said. Then he also collapsed on the ground with the rest of them.

"Well, this is all very well," said Edwin. "I don't think I've ever seen a display of more stupidity at once. Maniacs dancing, old pipeweed, and bonfires! What's next, simply getting on the ground and living with the animals? (I didn't even get to see any fertility rituals!) I hate nature. Bah." He was about to say something else when he realized that everyone was asleep. Minsc snored slightly.

Edwin considered sending a fireball right into the pile of sleeping people, realized that would be decidedly bad if he was to continue spying on Willow (and living, that was an important part, too), and instead rose and unfolded his lanky frame in a very long stretch. Then he fetched the rest of their gear from where it had been thrown to the edge of the circle (the rest of the druids were either giggling madly, relating paranoid theories on the nature of government, or eating anything within reach) and came back to settle himself down to sleep, using as many of the others' bedrolls as he could find (it wasn't as if they were going to use them)so as to create a satisfactory mattress.

"I am the only one in this group with an ounce of common sense," he said to himself. Boo, now curled up on Minsc's side, squeaked in his sleep.

"Yes, that includes you," said Edwin.

div align"center" ------------------------------ /div 

The next morning, all of the druids were gone but Greybeard. The party staggered into the stone circle and looked at him.

"My friends, we thank you for your participation last night," said Greybeard (who did, indeed, have a grey and bushy beard). "Blossom was especially smitten with you," he said to Edwin, who preened, "And she was disappointed to find you weren't at the peace-pipe ceremony afterwards."

"He was too busy being a stick-in-the-mud," said Imoen. Edwin glared at her.

"If you wouldn't mind, we'd like some information about this forest," said Jaheira before a bicker-fest could break out. "Specifically on the Shadow Druids and their role here."

"Ah, the Shadow Druids are the bane of existence in this forest," said Greybeard. "They say they desire man to leave and yet they continue living here and feeding off Mother Earth's power… they are especially angry over the recent incursion of the miners."

"Miners?" asked Willow.

"Aye, far to the north there is a large iron mine. Men come tromping through the forest on their way there. Everyone says we are no threat, but we are working to oust both the miners and the Shadow Druids."

"Exactly how is dancing and smoking 'working'?" asked Edwin.

Greybeard shook his head. "You are uninitiated in the ways of the druids," he said. "I would not assume to understand, were I you."

"I may not entirely understand the ways of druids but I understand that you are doing nothing," replied Edwin.

"Alright, alright, let's not get into a big debate," said Willow, holding up her hands. "So this mine is up north?"

"Aye, up north," said Greybeard. "And now, Brothers and Sisters, I must take my leave of you. One last warning: Beware the spiders." He bowed dramatically and marched off into the woods.

"Well, that was silly," said Willow after he was gone. "I wonder why I thought last night was so great?"

"Apparently because you are essentially a party-animal," muttered Edwin as they started walking again.

"I heard that," said Willow.

"That was the idea," said Edwin.

"I am not a party-animal. I just… like socializing. It wouldn't kill you to do it occasionally, y'know," replied Willow.

"If you have anything to do with it, it likely i would /i kill me," retorted Edwin.

They headed north, the silence of the forest broken only by the sound of Edwin and Willow bickering. When they came across a wide stream, however, Willow held up a hand and said, "I wanna wash this stuff offa me." She indicated the woad designs still on her skin. "If it will wash off, anyway."

"Me too," said Imoen.

"I also would not mind a bath," said Jaheira.

"I will wait until the next time we reach civilization," said Viconia, eyeing the stream apprehensively. "That looks too cold for me."

The men of the group looked at each other, shrugged, and moved some distance away and settled down on tree trunks. Viconia followed.

Autumn was beginning to catch up with the weather, and it was indeed chillier than it had been for quite a while. Edwin scribbled in his journal and Khalid and Minsc talked while splashes and occasional giggles from Imoen sounded behind him. Eventually the three women came back, hair dripping. Willow and Jaheira had brushed their still-wet hair and it swept out and back and made them look like twin lions. Imoen waited until she was standing right next to Edwin and then shook her head like a dog coming in out of the rain. Edwin was showered with thousands of tiny droplets.

"Must you be so irritating?" he asked Imoen, who merely smiled in return.

"Alright, crew!" said Willow, and struck a heroic pose. Quoth cawed from a nearby tree as a breeze blew through and made her shiver. "Er, let's go," she said, pulling her cloak tighter around her.

"To the mines!" said Imoen, pointing dramatically. They commenced walking again.

div align"center" ------------------------------ /div 

They were again attacked by Shadow Druids, these ones declaring angrily that druids like Jaheira were not welcome in the forest. Jaheira snorted and proceeded to whack each one on the head with her staff in a fine display of whirling fury.

They continued farther into the forest until dark, with no further encounters. They continued walking in the dark, Jaheira and Khalid, with their infravision, taking the lead and Willow and Viconia bringing up the rear. Imoen and Edwin remained in the middle of their line, with Minsc, who declared that he would "protect the little mages." (Edwin had resisted the urge to hit him with a fireball.)

Willow and Viconia seemed to be sniggering over something, Edwin noticed, but he couldn't hear exactly what had triggered the mirth.

Willow stopped to adjust her boot, holding up a hand, and Viconia obligingly also stopped.

Something brushed Willow's hand in the darkness. She froze. It brushed her hand again, this time without Willow having moved.

"Erm, Edwin?" she said experimentally.

"Yes?" came the distracted voice from ahead of her.

That was discouraging. She tried again. "Are you behind me?"

"Does it sound like I am behind you?" he said, sounding slightly annoyed this time.

"No," she said. Then she said, "Are you sure you haven't somehow fallen behind and dropped to the ground and are even now brushing your beard against my hand in an effort get up? 'Cause I imagine this is probably what that feels like."

There was a pause. Then Edwin replied, "Everything you do is designed to torture me, isn't it?"

Willow stood up very carefully. Viconia seemed to have gone rigid. "I don't mean to, Eddie," said Willow. "Well, maybe a little, but not this time."

Edwin walked back to them with a shuffling of leaves on the forest floor that sounded extremely loud in the silence. He stood between the two women. Willow could just make out a disapproving expression on his face in the dim moonlight.

Willow pointed, trying to control the shaking of her hand. "There's something extremely hairy back there."

Edwin rolled his eyes and moved to investigate as Minsc came up behind them. Willow moved back to hide behind the huge man, and Minsc obliged by lifting his arm and putting it around her shoulder so she could see around him easier. Even Viconia stepped carefully backward and moved so that Minsc was between her and whatever was there.

Edwin came back. He looked rather paler than he had, but Willow wasn't sure since the light wasn't that good.

"I have a suggestion," he said.

"And what's that?" asked Willow, knowing she wouldn't like the answer.

"Run like hell."

They did.

"Wha--?" said Jaheira as they passed, but didn't wait for an answer as she saw a large number of giant spiders legging their way towards them. Some of the spiders seemed to have swords for legs.

The party ran through the trees, nearly getting snared in gigantic webs and only narrowly avoiding falling into a small gully with a narrow but fast stream at the bottom of it. Edwin, in the lead, high-tailed it across a tree trunk spanning the gully (one terror overriding the other, as he didn't seem to notice the admittedly rather short height) and turned as the rest of the party followed him.

Edwin seemed to be chanting something, Willow could tell through the curtain of gut-wrenching terror. Several more spiders seemed to have joined the chase, so that they now had a small horde of them behind them. Willow was last across the makeshift bridge. Edwin reached out and pushed her to the side. A large mass of heat and light and fire and various other volatile ingredients burst over her head as she fell. She scooted around just in time to see the group of spiders explode in a burst of flame.

Willow rolled over and retched over the side of the gully as the squeaking screams of the spiders reached her ears. Viconia soon joined her in sickness.

After a while, Willow had nothing else to heave, though her stomach seemed to insist that this was simply not true and continued protesting. She fought the remaining nausea down and looked around.

"Augh," she lamented. "Why is my life so full of i vomiting /i ?"

Viconia was still on her hands and knees behind a bush, coughing pathetically. The rest of the party was sitting or lying down, panting. The spiders had luckily been in a mostly unforested area when Edwin had set them on fire; a bush burned sluggishly but it was unlikely to catch on anything else.

Edwin looked pleased with himself, though he also looked slightly worried. As soon as Willow looked at him he wiped the expression from his face and said, "I had been looking for a good time to try that spell. (Perhaps she is useful for more than just laughing at.)"

Willow giggled helplessly.

Imoen rolled over and said, "Geeze, Willow, trouble just follows you everywhere, doesn't it?"

That got Willow giggling harder.

"Like a lovesick puppy," added Edwin.

Willow snorted and finished giggling and looked for a water flask. Imoen passed her one.

Viconia crawled out from behind the bush. "A fine pair… we are," she said, gulping.

"Both scared to death of things with too many legs," said Willow. She rinsed out her mouth and spat and took a long drink and passed the flask to Viconia.

"Llolth exacts revenge on her detractors with spiders," explained Viconia, doing the same. "I have… been waiting for death to come for a long time. I thought perhaps that was it."

"Just Cloakwood," said Jaheira, sitting up.

"Is that why you worship Shar instead of Llolth, Viconia?" asked Imoen.

"No, I worship her because she's such a i warm and fuzzy deity /i ," snarled Viconia. Imoen rolled her eyes and grinned. "Yes, it's because I have forsaken Llolth and she has done the same for me. The only difference between us is that she is the hunter and I am the hunted."

"I don't wanna think about hunting," said Willow, swallowing. "We were almost spider-meat. Nice job with the fireball, Edwin."

"Of course," replied Edwin. He looked smug, from what she could see in the dim light.

"I suggest we camp somewhere with as few trees as possible, and soon," said Jaheira, standing.

"Sounds like a good plan to me," said Willow.

They found a spot at the foot of a high cliff where they could have the stone at their backs. It was in the middle of a clearing. Edwin's "display of might," as he called it, seemed to have scared the other spiders off for now, but they kept a guard all night anyway. Willow and Viconia set up their bedrolls next to each other and hoped nothing else would happen before dawn.


	18. The Mouthy Ones

The next morning, before breakfast, Edwin made note of recent events in his journal. He had been neglecting it; he convinced himself that it was because there had been quite a lot going on lately, what with two deaths and now this abominable forest, but… he couldn't shake the feeling that there was some other reason he simply couldn't focus on it. He stared ahead, tapping his chin with his quill, as he thought.

"Paint a portrait, it'll last longer," said Willow, looking amused at him.

Edwin blinked and realized he'd been staring in her direction. "Pfeh," he muttered as he bent his head again to his journal. He wrote:

b Death of morose elf previously mentioned. Only slight impact on party; seem to have moved past grief straight to acceptance stage. Can only hope idiots would mourn harder should I fall. /b 

(Little chance of that happening, he thought.)

b Young bard left party. Relief not to be attempting to teach him anymore. Now in Cloakwood. Willow scared out of wits due to hordes of spiders. Then again, never had wits to speak of anyway. /b 

(That wasn't entirely true, of course, but Edwin generally didn't care.)

b V. tired of killing imbeciles who think us an easy target. Fought Shadow Druids other day and won easily, though still have a scar on right collarbone. Will exact painful revenge later for marring perfect skin. /b 

(He wondered if adventurers often ended up with more scars than they knew what to do with. He also wondered if women found them appealing or disgusting. Perhaps he could broach the subject somehow with Imoen… no, that would never do. The girl almost worshipped him as it was, she might think he was trying to flirt with her. He didn't notice her putting pink dye in his hair-potion. He continued writing.)

b Feeling sorry for myself. Simply must stop it. Perhaps finding cause of angst would be good plan of action. /b 

He finished writing. Breakfast was ready. It was oatmeal. Again.

Willow handed him a bowl and a spoon. Then she held something else out to him. He stared at it. Then at her. Then at it again.

"It's just a honeycomb, Eddie," she said. "Not poison."

"I am well aware of what it is," lied Edwin. "Why are you handing it to me is the question. (And the answer had better be good.)"

"Squeeze it over your oatmeal," explained Willow. "It makes it taste much better."

"What, unrefined honey?" Edwin asked in disbelief. This was simply ridiculous.

"What do they do to honey in Thay?" asked Imoen, slurping at her honey-soaked oatmeal with great relish.

"Ruin its natural flavors with rubbish like clover or rose-petals, probably," said Jaheira, licking her spoon.

"Aren't clover and rose-petals natural, too?" inquired Imoen, ever the curious one.

"Yes, child. But that doesn't mean you should put them in honey just because you can."

"If p-people didn't do things j-just because they could, n-n-nothing would ever get done," said Khalid.

Minsc nodded as he gulped his oatmeal at lightning speed and got himself seconds.

"My arm is getting tired, Edwin," said Willow.

Edwin sighed and took the honeycomb. He squeezed it over his oatmeal and was surprised when quite a large amount of honey came out. It didn't look as if it could hold that much.

"Hey, don't hog it," said Willow, snatching the rest from him. A long string of honey flopped over the sides of their bowls.

Edwin tried it. It tasted much better than it usually would have. He didn't say anything, though. It would just make Willow smug.

On their way out of their campsite, he spotted Willow and Minsc standing by a beehive on a nearby tree. Minsc seemed to be teaching Willow how to hum something that apparently calmed the bees enough for her to reach in and grab another honeycomb. It was strange magic, this nature gig.

div align"center" ------------------------------ /div 

The party was getting decidedly tired of Cloakwood, but they had yet to find the mine. Heading in a northern direction was all they could do, though they hit the coast again and had to turn east.

On their seventh day in the forest, the party rose early and ate breakfast. They went through the usual motions of getting ready for the day, which included Willow and Khalid's fencing practice and Imoen and Edwin sorting out their spell components and spellbooks.

"Would it kill you to leave the lid down?" asked Willow, wiping bat guano off her hand.

"Would it kill you to look before you reach?" replied Edwin, distractedly counting out river pearls.

(Willow had reached out to pick up the small box they kept spell components in to put it back in her pack and instead gotten a handful of feces. Imoen had found this quite amusing, though Willow just found it disgusting.)

Edwin and Willow had been bickering more and more since the party at the druid circle ("Could you i please /i wait until we're out of the way before you cast your silly fireballs?" "It's not my fault you're all entirely too slow to keep up with my magnificent strategic mind!" and "Get that raven out of my hair before I cast Implosion on him!" "You're not even half as skilled as it takes to cast Implosion, you jumped-up warmonger!" and "Wench!" "Sarcasmo!" "Monkey-molester!" "I take great exception to that! I have never molested anyone, let alone a monkey!" "You almost molested me, as I recall." "You're not a monkey, as you keep telling us. Keep it up and I will, though!" "Ooh, I'm scared. See me shake in my boots."), though they both seemed to enjoy it. They were interrupted, however, as they started yet another argument by a man walking into their clearing with his hands raised. He sent an ingratiating smile their way and waved what looked to be a bottle of wine in the air.

"Hail, travelers!" he said as he drew even with them. I am Eldoth Kron, and I wonder if I might have a moment to speak with you?"

"Who the hell are you?" asked Edwin.

"What my esteemed colleague is trying to say is, 'who the hell are you, i please /i ?'" said Willow.

Eldoth smiled again. "I am Eldoth Kron, as I said. I am a bard—perhaps you've heard of me?"

The party looked at each other, back at him, and as one, shook their heads.

"Ah," he said, looking slightly disappointed. "No matter. Would you like to sit with me and have a glass of wine, perhaps?" He gestured to the bottle still in his hand.

Willow eyed it greedily, but Jaheira said, "It is much too early in the morning for alcohol, and besides, you are a stranger. It could be poison for all we know."

Eldoth nodded. "You are right, m'lady. Forgive me, I did not mean to insult your intelligence, any of you."

"Of course you did," said Edwin. "You would not have said it otherwise. (Obviously the most basic of logic escapes this simian.)"

"Exactly what did you want to talk about?" said Willow.

"Well, you see, I'm afraid I have become… well, lost. I was looking for a very rare flower for my lady-love in Baldur's Gate, you see, it's supposed to grow only in the Cloakwood. The flower remains unfound and so do I. Thus far I have managed to escape notice by those barbaric druids but I can't find my way out of this accursed place."

"And you expect us to do what about this?" asked Edwin.

"Point ya in the right direction?" asked Imoen.

"Well, I was thinking more of you leading me out," admitted Eldoth.

"I'm afraid we can't do that," said Willow quickly. "Extremely urgent business, you know. East of here."

"Oh," said Eldoth. "Well, then."

"Indeed," said Edwin, with the intention of hurrying him along so he could get back to proving Willow wrong at whatever it was she was going to say.

"H-head south and th-then east," said Khalid, pointing. "W-watch out for the Shadow Druids, of course."

Eldoth bowed.

"I'd be glad to take that bottle off your hands," said Willow, grinning. "It won't do you much good against the druids, 'less you plan to get them drunk. Or hit 'em over the head with it."

Eldoth stared at her a moment before handing it over. "In thanks for the directions, I suppose," he said, and headed off.

Edwin looked at the label over Willow's shoulder. "A good year," he said.

"If it isn't actually poison," said Jaheira. "Then it will simply be a dead year."

"Always the optimist," said Willow, tucking the bottle into her pack. They started walking.

div align"center" ------------------------------ /div 

They traveled two more days. Much to Willow and Viconia's relief, they seemed to have passed through the spider-infested area of the forest, but unfortunately the trade-off for that was that nature seemed to have decided to completely stop the warmth, and the days had been chilly lately. The leaves were starting to turn yellow and orange and red, and their resident "servants of nature" were starting to gush about the "lovely colors" and "crisp air." Willow in particular seemed to enjoy the cold, though Edwin couldn't stand it. He longed for the warmer days of Thay.

Imoen, also, had a vocal appreciation of "all the pretty colors," though she mercifully stopped it when they were having their magic lessons. He had been trying in vain to get her to study a spell called Mage Armor, but she would have none of it. She seemed to think she was invincible, and laughed it off anytime he mentioned it. This morning, however, she had been quiet and serious, and when Edwin had sneered and asked her whether she was feeling well she'd turned her green eyes on him and given him the shrewdest look he had ever seen. Coming from Imoen, of all people, it was unnerving.

"Eddie, I've been wondering," she began.

"Oh, no," he said dryly.

"Har har," she said. "I've been wondering, what's up with you staring at Wil so much?"

Edwin quirked an eyebrow at her and said nothing.

"I think I've got some idea," said Imoen. "And I think it might be kinda bad," she added.

Edwin kept his tone carefully neutral as he said, "Oh really?" while inside his mind he was quickly going over the thousands of reasons he could think of for Imoen to bring this up and hit on the most troubling one: She knew about him and what he was doing.

"Yeah, Eddie," she said. She looked him in the eye and he barely kept himself from gulping. "I think you should've told me."

"Told you i what /i , exactly?" he asked, playing for time.

Imoen punched him lightly on the arm. "About your crush, stupid!" She grinned suddenly at him.

Edwin opened his mouth, closed it, and thought: Oh good! That's all she thinks. Then he thought: Oh, wait. Dammit, this is bad.

" i Crush /i ?" he asked, piling all the disbelief he could muster onto the word.

"Sure, Eddie! Now, c'mere, I wanna tell you all the stuff Wil likes 'cause then it'll be twice as easy for you to win her over, only I figure you've got a pretty good start already 'cause she really likes arguing and you two do that i all the time /i anyway, but still. Mmkay, so first there's chocolate, and then there's the ocean, which I'm a little iffy on 'cause she hasn't actually i told /i me she likes it a lot but I can tell 'cause I'm practically her sister anyway, plus there's— well, there's lots of other stuff, but here's the plan, okay? You can take her for a walk on the beach, maybe down that cliff over there, but it's kinda rocky so she might fall and break her ankle, that wouldn't be very romantic at all, 'cept then you'd have to carry her back up so maybe it would! Anyway, you can take her for a walk on the beach and then you can stop her and declare your undying love for her and give her a huge box of chocolates, only I don't know where you could get some chocolates unless maybe we could order them from somewhere, 'cept that would be kinda hard 'cause there's no way we're sending anyone through this forest alone to get the order and then the chocolates and all that stuff, but we'll figure something out--"

She stopped as Edwin held up a hand, looking harassed. "There is absolutely no need for that," he said. "(Really, the very idea!)"

Imoen frowned, but got right back to beaming. "Don't be silly, Eddie, there's no need to be in denial, I can see the way you look at her! I'm not stupid. And neither is she! I'll bet she's noticed, too."

(Edwin hoped dearly that she hadn't, because that would make for twice the mess than there already was.)

"Now, Eddie," said Imoen, calming down again. "Here comes the bad part." She took a deep breath. "Edwin, if you hurt my almost-sister, I i will /i be forced to kill you." The effect was ruined somewhat by her frantic winking. "I've always wanted to say that!"

Edwin put his head in his hands in what was now becoming a very familiar gesture to them all.

Imoen clapped him on the back hard enough to break rocks and jumped up. "Say, Eddie, let's postpone lessons till later, 'kay? I'll let you daydream about Willow some more while I go talk to her and hint widely at a nice big gift of chocolate coming up!" She skipped off.

Edwin wondered vaguely if suicide was an option.

div align"center" ------------------------------ /div 

It took them one more day to reach the mine. Finally they saw it ahead of them, a large wooden structure on a tall hill with a high fence around it, leading down to what was presumably the rest of the complex. Before moving in on the mine, the party paused on a slight rise and rested.

Willow snuck away from the party and collapsed in a heap of already-fallen leaves as Quoth landed on a branch above her. He squawked happily as she turned over and stared up at the sky above, branches dancing a slow waltz in the light breeze and the occasional leaf twirling down to land on her. Quoth made an imposing silhouette against the blue of the sky, though from what she could hear he was actually thinking rather silly thoughts.

i Let's see, this feather should go there… and this feather should go here, and that one there… no, that's not very aerodynamic, that one should go b here /b . /i 

Imoen had been saying strange things all yesterday and today, something about "chocolate" and "walks on the beach" and "maybe even i more /i on the beach if ya know what I mean!" accompanied with much nudging with her elbow and winking. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to think of any of those things, but she'd nodded and smiled and retreated to speak with Jaheira most of the time (when Imoen had mentioned this " i more /i " on the beach she'd said, only half-jokingly, "Are you hitting on me?" and Imoen had turned bright red and slunk off for a while, but it hadn't lasted—she'd been back at the end of the day to talk about " i more /i on the beach with a decidedly i male /i presence"). Edwin appeared to be avoiding her, which was surprisingly disappointing as she missed their slagging on each other, but she figured he would come around eventually. She couldn't help but think that his avoidance and Imoen's yakking had something to do with each other.

Thinking done, Willow simply lay back and watched the clouds drift by. She thought, maybe, she understood now exactly why she had been drawn to being a ranger. It was comforting, to think she knew at least one thing about herself. Everything else seemed such a mystery these days.

div align"center" ------------------------------ /div 

Jaheira and Khalid were also discussing various mysteries, though Willow would not have liked it if she had heard them.

"She is getting more competitive by the day," said Jaheira.

"A l-little c-competition n-never hurt a-a-anyone," said Khalid.

Jaheira looked at him.

"A-alright, a little i h-healthy /i competition n-never hurt anyone," Khalid corrected himself.

"Precisely," said Jaheira. "And this is not healthy, at least for her. Oh, she can bicker with the wizard all day for all I care, i that's /i certainly healthy enough—"

"It m-must be, since y-you do it enough, and everything y-you d-do is healthy, Jaheira," said Khalid, grinning toothily.

Jaheira swatted at his arm lightly. "I'm serious, Khalid!"

"S-so am I," he replied, but he settled down.

"But for someone with her heritage we must try to keep her moods balanced and all this 'people wanting to kill her' nonsense is certainly not helping, aside from the fact that she's loony anyway."

"S-she's not loony," protested Khalid, "She's s-simply young. I r-remember a certain y-young and lovely half-elf that was s-so eager to get in a fight with e-evil she actually started and then w-waded into a b-barfight."

Jaheira blushed slightly. "That was different. That was just the one time."

Khalid nodded slowly.

Jaheira waited for a moment before allowing herself to break into a smile. "Alright, alright. But you're still missing my point entirely. We should do more to keep her from enjoying all this bloodshed. I don't think it's a major problem right now, but… who knows what may come in the future?"

Khalid nodded and picked a small flower at his feet and twirled it in his fingers. "P-pretty soon we'll just b-be along for the r-ride, not able to teach her a-anything else. J-just more companions."

"You'll never be i just /i anything, Khalid," said Jaheira, taking the flower out of his hand and putting it behind her ear.

"You s-say such nice things s-s-sometimes, Jaheira," said Khalid, putting an arm around her.

Jaheira smiled and leaned her head on his shoulder.

"A-about t-twice a year, at last c-count," finished Khalid, grinning again.

Jaheira bit him on the ear in retaliation.

div align"center" ------------------------------ /div 

There was a group of people waiting for them as they came through the gate to the mining complex. Two fighters and what looked to be a mage and rogue, respectively, observed them as they approached. The fighter stepped forward.

"Alright," he said, "You've come far enough. The Iron Throne is extremely tired of your meddling, friends. I've been wantin' to get my hands on you lot for a while now. Sending them idiots to do my dirty work was obviously a mistake, though I'll certainly not miss them. If you want a job done right, you gotta do it yourself, I always say." He drew his sword.

Willow drew her own. "Know what I always say? 'Always kill the mouthy one,' that's what I always say."

"(I am in deep trouble, then.)" said Edwin in the background.

Her opponent gave a surprised laugh. "Good one! Too bad yer on the wrong side of it, mate, elsewise I might like you."

"Yes, that's too bad," said Willow. She grinned as she swiped at him. He ducked easily, and the fight was on.

Edwin focused on the enemy mage, trading spells and occasionally getting scorched, while Imoen concentrated on the rogue, who had a number of invisibility potions on hand. The rest divided themselves evenly. Khalid took on their cleric, who conjured a heavy, glowing hammer out of thin air and proceeded to nearly brain the half-elf several times, though he dodged all of the swings and ran the cleric through as he was attempting to cast another spell. Soon the only enemy still standing was the leader. Willow appeared to be playing with him, taking advantage of the fact that his heavy armor encumbered him, though he was almost unnaturally fast otherwise. He was amused at first, but was now growing increasingly angry.

Finally he lunged and Willow side-stepped, drawing one sword across his throat as she moved out of his path and plunging the other into his back, between his ribs. She smiled in satisfaction and wiped her swords on his tunic.

Jaheira gave her a good talking-to as the others inspected the bodies for anything useful. "Must you toy with them like that? You're like a cat with a cornered mouse!"

"Hey, now that I'm good enough to have the right to toy I wanna toy!" replied Willow.

"Taking pride in one's accomplishments is one thing. Sinking to the enemy's level is quite another." Willow didn't have an answer to that one, and so stalked off in a huff.

Imoen was examining a pair of boots she had retrieved from the leader's body. "They're not cursed, but I can't tell what they do either. Hmmm…"

Willow took the boots and pulled them on. "One way to find out." They fit as if they'd been made exactly for her, though their former wearer was certainly no lightfoot.

She waited. So did everyone else.

"Hmm, let's see what happens when I walk," said Willow. She took a step toward the far wall and suddenly found herself traveling extremely fast.

"Yikes!" she said as she nearly rammed herself headfirst into the wall.

"Well, that was an impressive display of a nonexistent sense of direction," said Edwin, smirking.

Willow turned and glared at him. "You think you're so smart, i you /i try them." She shoved them in his face.

He took them, still amused. "You might try washing your feet occasionally," he said as he pulled them on. "Ah, these are most comfortable. Now, then…" He turned, aimed, and stepped.

Two seconds later, Willow and Imoen were kneeling next to an unconscious Edwin. His nose was bleeding, as was a small gash above his eye. He'd run into a post holding up a building.

"Poor Eddie," said Imoen. "He'll never live this one down."

"Nope," said Willow, reaching out with a finger glowing blue and touching it to the gash on his head. "I won't let him."

"His nose gets hurt a lot, doesn't it?" said Imoen as Willow healed that as well.

"Well, it's not like it can avoid it, it's so huge," said Willow, sniggering.

Imoen giggled, then said, "That's not very nice!"

Willow shook her head. "I think it's cute. A big nose adds character to a face, and character's what's important. Plus, you know what they say about men with big noses…"

Edwin opened one eye a few moments later to see the two girls looking down at him, sniggering.

"Not a word," he said, incorrectly interpreting the mad but strangled giggles escaping their mouths. "Not one word, or I swear I will find a Thayvian tea-party and make you sit through the entire thing."

"That doesn't sound so bad," said Willow, helping him sit up and playing along to avoid a large amount of embarrassment. Imoen grinned and winked at her behind Edwin's back and she stuck her tongue out at her.

"Have you ever been to a Thayvian tea-party?" he replied. At the shake of her head he said, "Thayvian tea-parties are the most diabolical invention of Man ever conceived. They are so utterly and completely boring that every infernal being of the Abyss would simultaneously implode should they be subjected to one. They are so incredibly pointless that if you gathered together the greatest minds the Realms have ever known and held one for them they all go stark raving mad within two minutes. They are so irritating that one would sooner chew one's own leg off than be subjected to one. They are like ten-day, non-stop lectures on the history of plumbing. They are i bad /i ."

"Well, guess we'd better not say anything then, huh, Wil?" said Imoen.

"Guess not!" replied Willow. "(Yet, anyway. Argh, now I'm doing it, too.)"

Willow liberated the boots from Edwin's feet with a tug and put them back on. "I'm gonna practice with them," she said. "We should all take turns; who knows when these could come in handy?"

As Willow spent a few minutes getting used to the boots, Edwin recovered from his accident and the rest of them looted the remaining bodies.

"I doubt these buildings here are worth looking into," said Willow, indicating them. "Might as well go on up to the mine."

Everyone more or less agreed, and they proceeded up the hill to the building that housed the elevator down. Several guards were standing around outside, attacked, and were quickly killed.

Quoth cawed from the top of the building where he'd been perched and flew down to land on Willow's shoulder.

i I'll wait out here, okay, Boss? /i he said to her. i Ravens get pretty claustrophobic, y'know? /i 

Willow tried something she'd been wanting to do for a while. i Okay, then /i , she thought in what she hoped was in his direction. i Be careful. /i 

Apparently it worked. i I'm always careful, Boss. 'Cept when I'm not. /i 

Quoth flapped upward back to the top of the building again and settled down to wait. The rest of them entered the building and descended into the mines.


	19. Spontaneous Transmogrification

The first thing they encountered in the mine was a guard. A very vocal one.

"Yer the new recruits, eh?" he said, leaning against the wall and taking a drag off a stubby roll of tobacco. "Lemme tell ya, it ain't all that great down here. Sure the pay's good, but the air really gets to ya… me wife's complainin' 'cause it's taken a little starch outta me maypole if ya know what I mean." He leered at Willow, in the lead, who curled her lip and decided she really could have done without that little interlude.

"I think that is entirely too much information and you should really shut up now," said Edwin, sneering at the man. The guard shrugged and stomped on his makeshift cigarette.

"Whatever," he said. "Report downstairs and get some uniforms, you look like a bunch of adventurers." He sniggered and walked off.

"(He will regret that later when we gut him in a dark passage.)"

"You mean when _I_ gut him in a dark passage," said Willow, moving forward. "You'd never get your hands dirty."

All they could do was move around the mine, looking like they knew where they were going while discreetly searching for a passage down. Several of the miners stared at them and finally one approached them as they entered a darker passage, looking every which-way to see if any of the real guards were watching.

"We can help you," said the miner. "You aren't Throne employees, you haven't got the right look." He looked at Edwin and Viconia. "'Cept maybe you two."

"I hardly think I look like the usual monkey these people seem to hire," said Edwin.

"Precisely," agreed Viconia, which pleased Edwin. "You are lucky our leader may need your services, otherwise I would have your tongue for a pendant."

"Right," said Willow, drawing attention back to the subject at hand. "Help how, exactly?"

"This entire mine's on a river. There's a plug in the north wall there. Get us the key from Davaeorn and we'll flood the mine."

"I see," said Willow. She looked at the party. Imoen shrugged. "Why would we wanna flood it?" she asked.

"This is the entirety of the Iron Throne's iron holdings right now," said the miner. "Destroy this mine and it'll be a huge blow dealt to them. I should know, I used to be a merchant before they captured me and put me to work in this hell-hole."

"And all the miners will die?" said Jaheira.

"I can help there, too," said the miner. "I can warn all the miners. Only problem is, I don't have any gold for bribes."

"This is some elaborate scheme to get us to hand over our money, isn't it?" said Edwin.

"How much gold would you need?" asked Willow. Edwin rolled his eyes.

"At least a thousand," said the miner.

"And you realize that if you just take it and run I'll be forced to hurt you?" said Willow.

The miner shook his head, looking rueful. "I've heard worse from the guards just for looking at them cross-eyed. I won't run off with it. Where would I go?"

"Alright then." Willow counted out one thousand coins from her purse, Edwin making a strangled noise in the back of his throat as she handed them over. "Tell the miners and we'll get the key."

The man nodded. "The way down is that way," he said, pointing to a dim passageway to the south. He walked off.

"Well, let's go," said Imoen, sounding tired.

------------------------------

For the most part, the guards seemed to do very little. Most of them ignored the party as it trudged through the mines, though a few of them gave them suspicious looks. Imoen stopped them before they headed down a corridor and moved forward cautiously.

"Who'd trap a passage where anyone could just walk right into it?" she asked, shaking her head. "Maybe there's some kinda big meeting going on."

Willow suddenly had an idea. "You disarm that," she said, reaching to pick up Imoen's pack from the ground where she'd put it while she worked on the trap. "You have an invisibility potion somewhere, right? You nicked it from Jaheira."

"Excuse me?" said Jaheira, eyes glittering dangerously.

Imoen laughed nervously. "Just a little practice, Jaheira. Didn't mean nothing by it."

Willow set aside a pair of golden pantaloons, a large book, a bottle of pink hair-dye, a ring of keys, a set of rather skimpy underwear ("Hey!" said Imoen, turning red), a lone stocking, a scrap of paper, a pink leather-bound journal, and a short piece of rope before she found the potion. "Well, it'll serve a good purpose now, Jaheira," she said. She piled everything back into Imoen's bag as the thief tinkered with the trap. "What's this?" she asked, looking at the book she'd found.

"Hmm?" asked Imoen, turning back. "Oh, that. Me and Minsc and Garrick found it in a cave at the gnoll fortress. Never got around to reading it."

Willow looked at the cover, which was embossed with the words "Tome of Leadership and Influence –or-- How to Win Friends and Political Races."

"Mind if I read it first?" she asked.

Imoen shrugged. "Go ahead. Doesn't seem like my cuppa tea anyway," she added. "I'm already utterly charming." She tossed her hair coquettishly and batted her eyelashes, nearly triggering something nasty-looking in the trap.

Willow sniggered and put the book in her own pack for later.

"(At least someone will get some much-needed use out of it.)" muttered Edwin.

"Seems to me I must be pretty charming already," said Willow, pinching Edwin on the arm before he could stop her. "You haven't killed me yet, after all." She uncorked the potion bottle.

"That key word would be 'yet'," said Edwin, with his best menacing look, thought it was somewhat ruined by the little "ow" noise he made. Willow grinned and swallowed the potion and winked out of sight as Edwin rubbed at his arm.

"Stay here a moment," said her voice out of thin air. "Oh, wait." Two boots appeared and were flung towards Khalid from somewhere near the floor. "Don't wanna move too fast."

Without the Boots of Speed (as she'd secretly named them), Willow didn't have to trade for her increased speed with increased noise. Padding down the passage in her stocking-feet was much safer. Being invisible didn't make everyone else deaf, after all. She sent a silent thank-you to Kivan for his thorough lessons.

She turned right at the end of the passage and came upon a door that led to what appeared to be a small prison. Walking down the prison passageway, she found a door that opened onto an anteroom. She could hear many voices through the archway to her right and to her left was a stairway down. She looked through the arch.

At least ten guards sat eating their lunch, and a woman with the permanently snooty expression and robes of a mage sat at the head of one of the tables. She was talking to a guard with more elaborate armor than the others, who must have been a commander. They were all busily eating but Willow would make sure that didn't last.

Looking around, she spotted a suit of armor on a stand. She picked up as much of it as she could, stood in a shadowy corner, and tossed it all as hard as she could at the stairwell opposite. It made enough noise to wake the dead on its way down. The guards sprang from their benches and leapt into the room, looking for the source of the noise.

"There!" shouted one, seeing the light glint off a shoulder-piece as the armor continued to fall. It looked as if it were someone running.

The guards ran towards it and Willow crept into the lunch-hall. The mage was standing, staring around, but slowly getting a knowing smirk on her lips.

"I know you're there, poppet," she said, in a voice that would be better suited to someone's grandmother than her. "Come on out and I promise it won't hurt too badly."

"I doubt that," said Willow from behind her. The mage spun and sent a jet of fire from her outspread hands that scorched past as Willow ducked. Taking advantage of her invisibility, she maneuvered around while her opponent was grabbing at a pouch at her side, presumably for more spell components. In position, she stabbed the woman through the back. "At least I'll be quick about it," she said.

The woman screamed as the blade pierced her heart and promptly died. Willow took out a handkerchief and wiped her sword down and wondered when killing had gotten so easy. Then she decided it wasn't worth worrying about right now.

Willow moved into the room she'd left the others in. The potion was already wearing off; she could see glimpses of her cloak wisping through the air. She stopped just short of the trap Imoen was finishing up.

"Phew!" said Imoen, wiping her forehead. "That one was a doozy! Woulda killed anybody in a second, too."

"Good work, Immy," said Willow. "We should be ready for the guards," she said to the others.

And, indeed, said guards were waiting for them as they entered the mess-hall once again. They yelled and charged, though they were no match for the party's experience. The commander stood back and shouted orders, though when the rest were dead he stepped forward and sparred with Khalid. Khalid pulled off a very impressive parry and counter-thrust, which finished the commander off.

They rested a moment before descending yet another level. This time there was a larger number of guards waiting, a mixture of hobgoblins and humans; the hobgoblins carried bows and launched arrows dripping with a black poison that worked extremely quickly. Minsc was struck by one in the shoulder and was floored within a minute. Willow fought her way over and laid her hands on the wound, hoping it hadn't only been a one-time occurrence when she'd cured her hangover. It worked, and Minsc's face regained its color slowly while the rest of the party killed the remaining enemies. She finished up by healing the arrow-wound.

Proceeding forward carefully, they saw a long corridor with only one archway near their position leading off it. Peering in, they saw only a single, robed man, kneeling in front of an altar.

Looking at the symbol behind the altar, Willow heard a rushing in her ears and suddenly her heart felt as if she'd ripped it out, swallowed it again, and was choking on it. It was a skull, strangely familiar, with twelve rubies, shaped like drops of blood orbiting around it. There were rubies in the eye sockets of the skull as well, and she didn't think it was a trick of the light that they glowed as she looked at them.

The man kneeling at the altar stood and turned. He had a blindfold over his eyes but it didn't seem to hinder him. He smiled a slow smile, revealing sharp canine teeth.

"I may be blind but that doesn't mean I can't see," he said.

"(They must have changed the definition of 'blind' while I wasn't paying attention, then.)" muttered Edwin, but Willow noted that he sounded distinctly nervous.

Willow moved forward and looked at Imoen, beside her, who looked scared. "It looks familiar, Wil," whispered Imoen out of the corner of her mouth. Willow nodded.

"I've been waiting for you," said the blind man. He bowed to them. "Kin you are, though you may not know it—kin you have nearby, though only he is aware of it. I am but your humble servant."

"That's enough!" barked Jaheira, but he didn't pay any attention to her.

"Unfortunately for you, in your family servitude means death. Yours, for now." The blind man drew a dagger and threw it. It struck Imoen in the stomach before anyone could react and she fell back against the wall with a strangled cry.

"Immy!" shouted Willow and scrambled to get to her friend. Imoen was clutching at the dagger in her stomach, blood spreading all too quickly over her pink tunic. Edwin snarled and began chanting.

The room exploded in fire as Willow and Jaheira reached Imoen; Edwin had cast another Fireball straight into the middle of it, hitting the man dead-on. There was nothing left of him except a smoking fragment of leather, presumably from a boot; luckily the altar was made of stone so that it didn't burn for long. The candles that had been lit on either side of the skull were melted into nothing, as was a small ironbound chest and the gold that had been inside it.

"Most impressive, spellslinger," purred Viconia. Edwin gave her the most rudimentary of arrogant smirks before hurrying to Imoen's side while trying to look like he wasn't hurrying at all. He stood above the three women, waiting.

"Owie," said Imoen. Edwin tried not to look relieved.

Jaheira was busily knitting together the skin of Imoen's stomach, working quickly to avoid too much blood loss. "Stop moving," she said tersely.

"Sorry, Jaheira," muttered Imoen. "It tickles."

Willow wiped hastily at her eyes with the back of her hand. "If you ever come that close to dying again I swear I'll kill you," she said. Imoen grinned weakly.

"Sorry, Eddie," said Imoen, looking up at the mage. "Guess I should've paid more attention about armor spells."

Edwin unclenched his jaw and said, "You certainly should have. I am not about to let you waste all my teaching prowess in one fell swoop. Now you see that I know what I am talking about."

Imoen nodded as Jaheira let out a long breath as she finished healing the young thief and wiped off the remaining blood. "Now I know."

------------------------------

"Why'd he hit me?" asked Imoen a while later as she and Willow stared at the still-smoking skull. The others were standing or pacing restlessly while the two girls pondered the symbol; Jaheira was looking as though she was going to explode any minute, and any time she paused in her pacing Khalid whispered presumably soothing things in her ear, though they seemed to have little effect for once. Edwin was writing in his journal, casting occasional suspicious glances at the skull on the wall, while Minsc sharpened his sword and talked to Boo. (Boo appeared to be explaining something to him.) Viconia leaned against the wall, looking bored.

"Well, he i was /i blind," said Willow.

"Yeah, but he was aiming for me, I could see it," replied Imoen. "I'd thought he was talking to you, you've always been the important one, but…" For the first time since Gorion's death, Willow realized, Imoen appeared troubled.

"So did I," said Willow. "I guess he was talking to both of us. This thing gives me the heebie-jeebies," she added.

"Me too."

The skull stared back at them.

After a moment Willow turned to Viconia. "Can I borrow that?" she asked, pointing to Bassilus' hammer, hanging from the Drow's belt.

Viconia looked suspicious but handed the hammer over. "I get the feeling you're planning a bit of destruction," she said.

Willow nodded and smashed the skull on the wall.

Tried to smash, anyway. It didn't even chip.

"What're you doing that for?" asked Imoen, walking back up to her friend, having quickly moved far back to avoid any flying stone.

"I wanna wipe that smug grin off its nonexistent face," snarled Willow. She swung again, and a hairline crack appeared. "Help me if you want."

Imoen looked through her pack and spellbook to see if she had a spell that could help since there weren't any more hammers nearby.

"Don't dent my hammer," said Viconia as Willow rested a moment.

"It's magical, it can take it," panted Willow.

Edwin rolled his eyes and pressed his hands to the nearest wall to cast a Silence spell on the room in hopes of prolonging the time until they were swarmed by hundreds of angry Iron Throne guards. Minsc wanted to help Willow but thought it best to stay back.

Finally, with the help of a few well-placed Magic Missiles and Willow's now-screaming muscles, the skull was in pieces on the floor, along with the rubies. Willow picked the largest fragments of ruby up and put them in a pouch while inside her somewhere a loud voice cursed her very existence. Edwin snatched one of the rubies out of her hand and examined it carefully.

"Worth something, perhaps, but only to a skilled jewel-cutter," he declared finally and dropped it into the pouch.

"Good thing they're not worth much because I'm going to be throwing them into the sea," said Willow. Edwin's jaw dropped.

"Don't look so astonished, Eddie," she said, tying the pouch tightly and sticking it in her pack.

"Why?" he asked, and went back to gaping.

"I don't need a reason," replied Willow, shrugging. "I don't ever need a reason other than that that's what I think I should do at the time. If that makes sense. Which it probably doesn't."

She put a finger to his jaw, pushed so his mouth closed, and walked off. Edwin made several rude gestures to her back as Imoen walked past, apparently without the heart to giggle.

------------------------------

They came upon the stairway down at the end of a long, empty room. Imoen thought she heard faint footsteps somewhere near them but nothing jumped out at them, and so they descended to what they hoped was the last floor of the mine.

In front of them was a long hallway that led to a dark room. To their right was what looked to be a guard's room. Something stirred in the shadows.

Jaheira and Khalid crept into the room, using their infravision to see if anyone was in there. The others followed.

They found a young woman tangled up in the sheets of the bed, bruises on her face and wrists but still breathing. She muttered something and her muscles jerked as she remained unconscious. Jaheira muttered a healing spell over her and the girl's eyes fluttered open.

She had short, badly-cut brown hair and tattoos that were meant to look like claw marks on her cheeks. She would have been pretty if she wasn't covered in dirt from head to toe. The dirt made it rather hard to tell, but Willow suspected she was naked.

She opened her eyes and shied back like a wounded animal. "We will not hurt you, child," said Jaheira in a moderately soothing voice.

"Why not?" snarled the girl. "Everyone else has." Her eyes flicked to Minsc, Edwin, and Khalid, who had moved back to stand against the wall. Khalid gave her a sympathetic look.

"What happened?" asked Imoen in a small voice.

"Someone captured me. Davaeorn gave me to a guard," she added.

Minsc growled, deep in his throat, like a bear. It seemed to give the girl courage, and she sat up, pulling the sheets so that they were more firmly wrapped around her. "Are you here to kill the mage? You look like adventurers."

"We'll probably end up killing him, yes," said Willow. She scowled, though not at the girl.

"I wish you would. Bastard." The girl spat, missing Willow's boot by only a scant distance.

"What's your name, child?" asked Jaheira.

"Faldorn."

"Do you have anyone to go to after we have dealt with Davaeorn?"

The girl shrugged. "I'm apprenticed with the Shadow Druids, but I'm not very good at it."

Jaheira looked at Willow, who decided that even if she was a Shadow Druid she hadn't deserved what life had thrown at her.

"Want to help us kill him?" asked Willow.

Faldorn smiled, revealing sharp teeth. "I would, but I'd just get fried. I might be bad at this Druid stuff but it doesn't mean I'm stupid enough to get killed just like that. Give him a good shove up the hole he doesn't speak out of for me, though. I'll watch… but first I want to find something to keep me a little warmer than this thrice-cursed bed."

Willow gave a short, mirthless laugh. "Fine by me."

They left, promising to come back once Davaeorn was dead if she hadn't appeared by then. Faldorn was looking around for some decent clothes when they were walking out the door. Edwin made an indignant sound in the back of his throat.

"Not feeling sorry for her, are you, Eddie?" said Willow, who definitely was herself.

"Of course I am. Why shouldn't I?" retorted Edwin.

Willow gave a start and stared at him but said, "I dunno. I s'pose you should."

They walked forward carefully into the darker room at the end of the hall. A man was sitting at a desk in the corner, writing busily.

"Why have you come?" he asked, not bothering to turn around as he dipped his quill into an inkwell. "Is it to steal what few riches I have, or to gain some petty renown? I have little use for adventurers."

"And equally little use for girls your guards have captured?" said Willow, moving forward. Jaheira placed a restraining hand on her shoulder but she ignored it.

Davaeorn turned around. He put his quill down. "Why should I care what they do with her? A leader must provide for his followers; after that it's their business what they do. You didn't see me rushing to help them while you were charging all over this damnable mine, did you?"

"No, and it's just as well," said Willow. "Because then I wouldn't have had nearly half as much hatred for you as I have now."

"Hate me if you must," said Davaeorn, standing.

"I'll go you one better," said Willow, and launched herself at him. He raised his hands and she hit an invisible shield.

"I think not," said Davaeorn. "Guards!"

Chaos erupted as two man-shaped creatures came running into the room, eyes literally flaming and brandishing two-handed swords. Even Minsc was immediately put on the defensive as the creatures started hacking at the party.

Davaeorn smiled and raised his hands again. Willow threw herself against the barrier again and again as he began chanting. Just as she thought she might get through, he winked out of sight and she went flying forward into the desk.

------------------------------

Edwin couldn't try a fireball with everyone in such tight formation; he was forced to stay back and cast spells that might aid the party. He watched Willow get up and race off down another passageway, boots making her move twice as fast as everyone else…

Ah.

He had a Haste spell memorized. He quickly cast it. Viconia, next to him, paused as she felt the extra speed come upon her and turned to wink at him. He grinned stupidly for a moment before gathering his wits about him again.

Moving more quickly, it looked like they actually had a chance against the strange automatons attacking them.

------------------------------

Willow paused at a fork in the passages. In the back of her mind she wondered why they had to make it so difficult for her to kill them; it wasn't as if they had a choice. Her mind moved on to less important things, like contemplating "morals" and "ethics" and "nonviolent solutions" as she randomly chose to go left.

It turned out to be the right choice. She came to a small room with another altar and another skull; she didn't have time to get nervous at the sight of it. Davaeorn sent a lightning bolt her way. She ducked. It bounced off the wall behind her. Willow realized why Edwin had taught Imoen not to cast them indoors as it sailed over her head and hit Davaeorn squarely in the chest.

The mage staggered back, hair standing on end, eyes wide and shocked (literally, and Willow couldn't help a little giggle at his expression). He panted as he tried to regain his breath.

"That is… a very good… set of reflexes you have there," he said haltingly. "But I'm afraid… it will do you little good… once I recover."

"That's too bad, then," said Willow. Something moved in the corner of her eye and she turned to see Faldorn standing in a shadow. She grinned. "Because I'm not going to let you recover," she finished, turning back to Davaeorn.

Willow stepped forward. "I'm going to kill you. And I think I'm going to enjoy it."

Davaeorn staggered back against the altar as Willow dropped her swords and pounced. She had the strangest feeling that her cloak was suddenly wrapping itself around her; then she had an even stranger and considerably more uncomfortable sensation of her bones shifting around and her skin crawling and her organs hopping from one place to another—and then she didn't feel anything, because she blacked out.

------------------------------

Willow opened first one eye and then the other. She stared at the ceiling while she tried to take stock without moving.

The ceiling looked like the same ceiling she'd seen before she lost it. That was comforting. She was lying on a piece of cloth, which felt like it was over a cold stone floor. The cloth, she realized, was her cloak. She felt sticky. There was something stuck in her teeth. She was also apparently naked.

Willow turned her head as someone approached; it was Faldorn. She was grinning widely. The girl had found some clothes; a shirt that was three times her size so that it hung off her frame like a sail without any wind, and a pair of trousers she'd had to roll up at least ten times so that she could walk without tripping on them. She looked somewhat scary, in a tired, tattered sort of way.

"That was great," she said as she came to Willow and kneeled down beside her. "How'd you manage to change into a wolf?"

Willow opened her mouth to say that she had no idea that she i had /i changed into a wolf, let alone how, but decided she'd rather sit up instead. So she did. She groaned as she realized that she felt sticky because she was covered in blood.

Davaeorn was lying nearby. His throat was lying next to him. Willow suddenly didn't want to know what was stuck in her teeth.

"You've taught me a great lesson today," said Faldorn. Her eyes were lighting up and she was smiling even more widely. "Even the scrawniest person can be a true fighter… Nature has it wrong! The runt i can /i lead the pack, it just has to work harder at it!"

"Who're you calling a runt?" muttered Willow, wrapping her cloak around her. It only occurred to her after she'd done it that that might not be a good idea, but nothing happened.

"I'll go back to the Shadow Druids and complete my training," continued Faldorn, "But someday… someday I'll lead my own grove! And it will all be thanks to you. You've showed me the light! I i can /i fight, and I will!"

Willow suddenly had a very bad feeling.

Faldorn hugged her around the shoulders and ran off.

Willow sighed and looked around for her clothes. They were in a pile nearby, ripped beyond use; her armor had fared somewhat better, though she'd have to get it repaired before she could wear it again. She wrapped the cloak around her even more tightly, and, not hearing the sounds of battle anywhere, set off to find the others.

They were still in Davaeorn's office, tending to the wounded. She ran into Imoen at the doorway. Imoen stared at her for a moment before saying, "Wil! What happened? I was going to come find you, but…"

"This cloak happened," sighed Willow. Jaheira looked up from healing a long gash down Minsc's chest, shook her head, and looked back to the wound.

Khalid and Edwin walked up; Edwin was actually allowing the half-elf to lean on him for support, though neither of them looked very happy about it. Edwin eyed the blood on Willow's face and didn't comment. Instead he said, "What's this about a cloak?"

"It turned me into a wolf," said Willow, sitting in a nearby convenient chair because suddenly her knees had gotten rather weak. Imoen handed her a water flask.

Edwin's eyes lit up. "Really? Spontaneous transmogrification?" He moved forward quickly, causing Khalid to almost fall over. Imoen sprang forward to catch him.

Edwin grabbed at the hem of the cloak and stared at it, as though it would reveal all its secrets to him that way. Willow turned faintly red and said, "Edwin!"

"What?" he said distractedly, rubbing the cloth of the cloak together to hear what sort of sound it made.

"I'm _naked_ under here!"

Edwin looked at her blankly before understanding came into his eyes. "Ah," he said, and let the hem drop. "Right."

Imoen giggled madly as Edwin cleared his throat and walked stiffly past her, beard hiding most of the blush on his face.

Willow wrapped the cloak still more tightly around her, nearly cutting off the circulation in her right arm, and wished for it all to be over.

"You shoulda seen your faces!" exulted Imoen, pointing and laughing. Edwin glared at her from across the room.

"Enough, enough," said Jaheira as she came over. "What is the problem here?" she asked as she saw to Khalid's leg.

Willow told her.

Jaheira shook her head again as Willow finished. "I should have known not to let you have that cloak."

"I guess it _was_ cursed," said Imoen, quieting.

"Yeah, guess so," said Willow, rolling her eyes at Imoen.

"Sorry," said Imoen, looking embarrassed. "I should've used Identify on it once I'd gotten it down…"

"Oh well," said Willow. "I suppose it came in handy. Davaeorn and his throat are separated, after all."

"Ew," said Imoen.

"You didn't have to see it," replied Willow. "And I've got something stuck in my teeth and I'm afraid to see what it is—"

"Okay, okay, that's enough information!" said Imoen, holding up a hand. "I really coulda done without that."

"You and me both, sister," muttered Willow.

Viconia and Khalid and Jaheira left to examine the mage's body. The rest of them sat and rested, and in the case of Willow and Edwin, tried not to look at each other while they waited. Finally the three of them came back.

"It was a very thorough job you did," said Viconia. She seemed subdued. "It almost reminded me of the Underdark."

Khalid put Willow's armor on the desk behind her. "I should be able to get it into working condition," he assured her.

"Hope you can do the same for my stomach," said Willow.


	20. SideEffects

The rest of the Cloakwood mine adventure was a blur; Willow retreated into another room to slip into a change of clothes that she would definitely have to wash later. She had nothing besides the water in the party's water-flasks to wash with and the blood still covering her hadn't been quite dry when she put the clothes on. She also appropriated a splinter of wood from a broken chair-leg and used it to get whatever it was that was stuck in her lower teeth (she shut her eyes tightly as soon as she was sure it was out, so she didn't have to know what it was).

Edwin intimidated an apprentice they found in the library in the back of Davaeorn's suite into telling them what exactly Davaeorn did and who his superiors were. The apprentice, shaking in his boots, had told them that Davaeorn simply oversaw the mine's operations, and that Sarevok was the real power behind the throne, as it were.

"Literally," said the apprentice. "Sarevok works at the Iron Throne. Aha. Heh. Hem."

Edwin quirked an eyebrow at him and said, "Joking is not customarily done while you are on the wrong end of a wand."

The apprentice, not knowing that he was staring down the barrel of a stick painted red instead of a Wand of Fire, cowered.

"This Sarevok, what does he look like?" said Imoen.

"Big guy! Spiky armor! Really really big guy! Shiny yellow eyes! Big big really big! Bigger even than you!" The apprentice pointed with a shaking hand at Minsc, who looked astonished.

"Bigger than Minsc? Surely the little mage is mistaken."

"Definitely not mistaken!" said the apprentice, nearly shouting now. "I've seen him dozens of times, when he visited to see how the mine was doing! He's in Baldur's Gate!"

Imoen looked over at Willow, who looked back at her and said, "He was the one that killed Gorion."

"Very well, I suppose we shall let you live since you proved to be a _modicum_ of help," drawled Edwin, pulling the stick back from the apprentice's face. "But I would suggest you run now. (And fast.)"

The boy did.

"Boy, even when I knew nothing about magic I still recognized a wand," said Imoen, taking the stick from Edwin and twirling it between her fingers.

"Yes, well, you grew up in Candlekeep, where artifacts like that are often studied," said Jaheira. "Now, if we might leave this depressing place?"

They took an elevator to the top level of the mine and Khalid presented the key to the miner they had met before, who looked like he could have gladly kissed each member of the party. (Luckily for him, he didn't attempt this.) He sent the entire party ahead to climb out of the mine so he wouldn't have to worry about them; he resisted Khalid's offer to open the plug himself, saying that he wouldn't know how to do it.

Finally, they all emerged into a very impressive sunset, the sky streaked red and gold and orange and other warm colors as the sound of rushing water filled their ears. The other miners were all standing around outside the elevator building.

"Just wanted to stick around and say thanks before we left," said one, shaking Khalid's hand. "One of those guards, never been much fond of his job, said he'd lead us out of the forest. Ye need just worry about gettin' yourselves out of here."

The miners waved farewell as they marched off, and the party looked at each other, wondering what to do now. Quoth fluttered from the roof of the building to land on Edwin's shoulder and shuffled sideways onto Willow's. Willow tapped him on the beak absentmindedly.

"Camp?" suggested Imoen.

They all agreed.

------------------------------

After they'd made camp, Willow grabbed Imoen by the hand and, taking Minsc with them in case they ran into trouble, marched north to a cliff overlooking the ocean. Minsc taught them how to use a sling to fling the rubies from the mine's altar into the water, and they came back to camp tired but feeling strangely uplifted.

Still, Willow didn't feel much like cooking that night, and so Imoen tried her hand at frying some fish from a nearby stream. Everyone ate their blackened pieces of trout as quickly as possible.

"Sorry, guess I shouldn't have gotten distracted scribing that spell," said Imoen afterward, looking embarrassed.

"I hear blackened food is very popular in some countries," said Willow bracingly.

"(Countries filled with insane people, that is.)" said Edwin from across the fire.

Later, Edwin moved to sit on a rock next to Willow's bedroll near the fire; she was reading the book she'd borrowed from Imoen very intently. Edwin saw that she already had several pages dog-eared, as if she meant to go back to them for reference.

"Well," he said, when she looked up at him with raised brows, "Now that I've gotten over accidentally imagining you with no clothes on—"

"Sorry?" said Willow, sitting up to lean on her elbows and looking astonished.

"Truly traumatic, that the mere mention of such a thing could subject me to such horror—"

"Is this some strange way of telling me that I'm ugly?" asked Willow.

"What? No, of course not—" The conversation was rapidly deteriorating, Edwin thought. Time to get it back on track. "It is simply irritating that mere mention of something is enough to… evoke an image in one's head. Now, as I was saying—"

"Now that you mention it, it does work that way, doesn't it?" interrupted Willow. "Even if you tell someone not to think of something, they still think of it." Willow got a sudden merry grin on her face and Edwin was instantly suspicious.

"Yes," he said cautiously. "But, going back to my original—"

"Don't think of a blue cow!" said Willow.

Teal bovine. "Yes, yes, that's exactly it, but—" tried Edwin again.

"Don't think of… Quoth!"

Annoying raven. "Alright, yes, but—"

"Don't think of Imoen setting fire to something!"

Conflagration of epic proportions. "Could we please get back to—"

"Don't think of Jaheira and Khalid in a compromising position!"

This was simply getting-- "Argh!" said Edwin, clutching at his head.

Willow burst into mad laughter as Edwin contemplated pulling his brain out his ear and washing it with scented soap.

"Sorry," said Willow after a few minutes of laughing. Edwin glared at her from between his fingers. "That's like making someone walk in on their parents while they—"

"That is quite enough!" said Edwin, raising a hand. "(Oh gods, why me? Why must I have such a superior mind and the imagination to go with it?) I have something to discuss with you and it has i nothing /i to do with being naked, or compromising positions, or anything of the sort!"

Willow nodded, trying to look serious. "Go on, Edwin."

"This cloak of yours. I would like to study it." He paused. "That would, of course, mean someone would need to demonstrate a transformation with it. And since you've already done it once…" He trailed off in what he hoped was a tantalizing manner and looked expectantly at her.

Apparently not tantalizing enough. Willow frowned. "I dunno if I want to again, Eddie."

"In order to understand it fully I must see how it works. Someone who has had experience is preferable as a research assistant to someone who… hasn't. (Imoen might benefit from observing… but no, not yet.) Experience, in this case, counts as having used it at least once."

"On accident," reminded Willow.

"Irrelevant," replied Edwin, waving his hand as if swatting away a fly. "We simply need to find what triggered the transformation and I can see how it works."

"Well, that should be easy, since I was talking to an annoying mage at that particular moment anyway," said Willow.

"Your petty attempts at insult are as always amusing, but we really haven't the time," said Edwin.

"Pfeh," replied Willow.

Edwin sighed. "We should begin tonight, this soon after the initial transformation."

Willow went back to her book. "Not tonight, Eddie."

"And why not?" replied Edwin.

"I have a headache."

" i You /i have a headache? What do you think my head feels like after you defiled it like that just now? (No consideration for others, that's her problem.)"

"I'm tired, Eddie," said Willow, turning a page.

"So rest and then we'll do it."

"Edwin, just get it through your thick, spell-obsessed magey skull that I'm not going to do this again tonight," said Willow, turning her head to glare at him. He glared back. "So unless you've got a large box of chocolate and a tub full of hot water and lots of soap hidden under those robes to bribe me with—highly unlikely, I might add—I'm not going to do this for you. Tonight, anyway." She turned back to her book.

Edwin wondered whether he could find something else to negotiate with aside from those other items, decided that was a fairly pointless question when they were in the middle of a forest, and stood up. He turned to leave.

He turned back.

"One year of my service in exchange for help investigating this cloak," he said before he realized what he was doing.

Willow slowly lowered her book to stare up at him. Her eyes narrowed for a moment before she got a sly grin on her face and jumped up.

"You got it! I'll want that in writing, by the way. Not for my benefit, but because I know you won't try to weasel out of it later if you sign it and such." Edwin stared blankly at her. "Well, don't just stand there and gawk, let's get this over with!"

------------------------------

"Now don't peek," said Willow later as she stood in the middle of a deserted grove far from camp. She shivered. It was chilly, far too chilly to be going around wearing nothing but a cloak.

"You're the one that insisted on going… er, bare," said Edwin, sounding strained. That might have been because he was attempting to climb a nearby tree, since Willow had insisted that protective spells might not be enough.

"I'm not about to ruin another set of clothes," replied Willow. "Are you up there yet?"

"No," grunted Edwin, swinging from a branch.

"Honestly, didn't you climb trees when you were little?" said Willow, remembering just in time not to put her hands on her hips since that might cause a draft and possibly an accident.

"Of course I did," puffed Edwin. "I was a perfectly normal child, I'll have you know. It's just been a while since I've done this. (A long while. A very long while.)"

"Guess you were wrong when you said you wanted to talk about something had nothing to do with nakedness," said Willow after a moment. Edwin groaned nearby.

"Entirely your fault," he said. "Dammit!" he added as his boot slipped on the bark of the tree.

"Here, lemme help," said Willow, starting forward.

"No!" said Edwin, nearly falling out of the tree. "No, that's perfectly alright," he said, a little more calmly. "You just… stay there. And don't move. And don't lift your arms."

"Ooookay, then," said Willow, stepping back. Finally, Edwin made it to a respectable height in the tree, low enough to see but high enough that if she did actually manage to turn into a wolf again he wouldn't be in any danger. Quoth flapped over, perched on a branch near him, and squawked, sounding amused.

"Now, then," said Edwin, ignoring the raven. "Change."

There was a moment's silence before Willow said, "How?"

Edwin sighed again. Was all this really worth a year of putting up with her? And would she even last a year anyway? "How did you do it last time?"

"I dunno," she said. "I just… did."

"Well, what were you doing at the time?" Edwin picked a leaf out of his hair and found a large dead spider attached to it. "Bleurgh," he added.

"Umm… I was leaping at Davaeorn," said Willow. "Maybe I have to get angry to make it work."

"Well, then get angry! (I'm certainly on the way…)"

"Okay." Willow closed her eyes and concentrated. Angry, angry, angry. Get angry!

She opened one eye and peered around, then opened the other. She looked up at Edwin in the tree, or tried to, but he was obscured by a bunch of leaves at this angle. "It's not working."

Edwin didn't answer but she heard a thunking sort of noise and thought maybe he was hitting his head repeatedly on the branch in front of him.

"Okay, okay, I'll try harder," she said. "Don't give yourself a concussion."

She closed her eyes again. Something that made her mad. Well…

She thought of Faldorn. Hmm, no. She thought of Faldorn in the clutches of a large guard. Close, but she must have been used to the idea by now, since she didn't really get all that mad. She thought of Viconia being strangled by a Flaming Fist officer. No, that didn't help either. Maybe something else… She thought of Quoth being killed by one of her enemies, his neck snapped like so much tinder. That almost got her blood boiling. Dogs being kicked. Bad. Horses whipped. Really bad. Kittens tied in bags and thrown in wells.

Something snapped nearby. Suddenly she was flying through the forest, fur (fur?) riffling in the breeze created by her passage, running just for the hell of it, and her paws (paws?) not bothered by the uneven ground. The moon was shining high above her and the night was pleasantly cool through her fur (yep, it was fur alright) and she was panting and drooling and she could get away with it because she was a wolf, and everything was good. More than good. Great. She stopped and howled. Her eyesight was much better than as a human. She wondered vaguely why she was keeping her head this time and then decided not to think about it, since that would undoubtedly ruin the experience.

She didn't want to go too far, though. She turned back, trotted into the grove, collapsed, and was human again within a moment.

Willow lifted her head and spit out the dirt that had worked its way into her mouth when she changed back. "Oogh," she remarked.

"Argh," replied Edwin from nearby. She stood up and staggered over to him, lying on his back next to a broken branch. He must have fallen out of the tree. He turned his head to look at her as she approached but quickly turned his head to look the other way.

"Didja see me?" she asked, kneeling next to him and twitching the cloak closer so it would keep her warmer. "Change, I mean?"

Edwin rolled his eyes. "No. I missed it. Falling out of a tree is rather distracting, you know."

Willow sighed. "Guess we'll have to do it again, then."

------------------------------

They took a shorter route in what they hoped was an eastward direction to get out of Cloakwood. It was much thicker forest on this side and they could see why they hadn't come this way to get to the mine in the first place; if they'd tried it they surely would have been forced back to the road. Now that they were familiar with the forest, however, they were managing, though it would still take them several days to emerge into unhindered sunlight.

Willow continued helping Edwin in his researching of her cloak, though that mostly just entailed standing around trying to make herself change into four-legged form. She was beginning to get better at it, however; she no longer had to get angry to prompt the change, though it still required a lot of concentration. She liked it when it worked, too—she liked being able to have a simpler mind for a short time. She didn't have to worry about anything when she was a wolf. Well, except for possibly ripping Edwin limb from limb. But he'd managed to convince her that a few well-prepared shielding spells would protect him, and she no longer felt so out-of-control when she changed.

After several days Edwin declared that Willow would no longer have to demonstrate for him, though he would need to have the cloak to examine it further. She agreed to let him study it at night when she didn't need it. She still snuck off sometimes while everyone else was asleep to run around occasionally, though.

Imoen was allowed to help with this part of the study; she'd complained heartily when Edwin had told her that she couldn't observe their experiments, saying it was too dangerous for a "silly girl who wouldn't even bother memorizing Mage Armor until a few days ago."

"That's not fair!" Imoen had said whiningly.

"Life isn't fair," replied Edwin in the tone of a father who has heard this argument many, many times and has responded the same way at each instance of it.

"So Willow gets to run around naked with you while— oooooooh," said Imoen, and suddenly got a huge grin on her face.

Edwin rapped her smartly on the head with a book and pointed back towards camp. Imoen went without protest, giggling madly. Willow and Edwin rolled their eyes simultaneously and went back to work.

Now, however, Imoen was put in charge of looking through Edwin's various books on magical theory for information on transformation while Edwin examined the cloak himself. Willow offered to help but Edwin waved her away, so she huffily went back to reading her book on leadership and resisted hitting him repeatedly with it.

They finally reached the road and headed south, thinking to rest for a while in the Friendly Arm before heading north to Baldur's Gate. They had heard rumours that the gate to the city was closed until the war with Amn either happened or the idea was put to rest, and wanted to be ready for anything if they couldn't get inside. They also thought they deserved a vacation after all they'd been through lately.

And so, when they reached the inn, they rented the finest rooms available and proceeded to relax. Tried to relax, anyway. Jaheira acted like a caged lion while Khalid attempted to calm her, and Viconia could only take off her hood in the privacy of her own room. Minsc declared that Boo was sick after eating some bad nuts and berries in Cloakwood and spent much of his time nursing the hamster back to health. Imoen and Edwin continued examining the wolf cloak. Willow tested her new-found people skills on the various patrons of the inn. This seemed to mean chatting about the weather a lot before getting them drunk and hearing interesting rumours from them. Also some rather bawdy songs.

Willow, everyone noticed, seemed to be behaving differently since she'd starting reading her book; she carried herself straighter and, while certainly not shy in the first place, she seemed to have less trouble looking people in the eye. While out in the wilderness she'd gone around constantly with leaves in her hair and dirt smeared on her face and clothes, but once they'd reached civilization again she'd promptly taken a very long bath and came down to the common room with clean hair and clothes. Edwin certainly thought she smelled better than she usually did. He hadn't noticed it before but he also now thought her eyes matched her hair rather nicely, even though it was a bit of a monochromatic combination.

Wait, when did her eyes change color? Edwin thought suddenly one night while reading a book in the common room. The cloak was in a pile next to him on the table and everyone else was being rowdy, though he'd long ago learned how to tune everything out in favor of the written word.

They used to be green, he thought. Or was it brown? … blue, maybe? Speak of the devil, he thought then. Willow was walking towards him, carrying a bottle and two wine glasses. A young man at a nearby table suddenly sat up very quickly and straightened his hair and clothes. Willow ignored him and sat down across from Edwin.

"Hiya, Eddie!" she trilled as she set the bottle on the table and the two glasses next to it. Edwin turned slightly to see the young man glaring daggers at him. Edwin couldn't help but to smirk in a satisfied way at him. He turned back to see Willow struggling to pull the cork from the bottle.

He held out his hand and she gave it to him. It was the bottle of wine she'd finagled from Eldoth. "I assume you're certain this isn't poison?" he said as he expertly wriggled the cork and popped it out with a minimum of fuss.

"I had Jaheira check it out," said Willow, holding out first one glass and then the other as Edwin poured. "She said it wasn't poison but that if I made myself sick it with it I shouldn't come crying to her."

Edwin sniffed at the wine in the glass and tasted it. Surprisingly, it was quite good. Willow seemed to agree with him, since she was nodding approvingly over her glass.

They sat in silence for a few moments. Edwin wondered if he should say something but Willow beat him to it.

"I asked Imoen if she wanted a drink, too, but she can't get over the fact that wine is basically fermented grapes."

"I'd rather she didn't drink anyway," said Edwin. "Her aim is bad enough as it is, if she gets drunk and tries to cast a spell it would be disaster. (I can hear the stories now… 'inebriated apprentice plays target practice with local inn. Cannot hit the broad side of a barn but manages to kill all observers'.)"

Willow grinned. "How's the cloak research going?" she asked.

Edwin looked down at the cloak. "Well enough, I suppose. (Should I tell her that I can't find a damn thing that would help with my studies? No, that would be stupid.)"

Willow leaned forward a little. "Hey, Eddie, do you know if there're s'posed to be… er, long-term effects to using that thing?"

Edwin peered suspiciously at her. "Such as?"

Willow opened her mouth and tapped one of her teeth. Edwin looked, but didn't know what she wanted him to see. All of them seemed to be there. Her tongue was still intact. She wasn't spewing gold and diamonds each time she talked.

"Did you see it?" she asked.

"See what, exactly?" asked Edwin exasperatedly.

"My canine teeth are getting longer, I think," Willow replied. "And I can see in the dark better. And my sense of smell is better than it was. Why do you think I took such a long bath when we got here?"

"You took a bath because even you thought you smelled of rotting leaves and wet fur?" said Edwin, voice tinged with disbelief.

"Well, yes," said Willow, blushing slightly. "Plus that book says people react better to a well-washed individual. 'Stinky is stupid', it says. I mean, I borrowed some perfume from Immy earlier and look here, you're actually sharing a bottle of wine with me. If that isn't good advice I don't know what is."

Edwin sniffed the air and found that she did actually smell rather flowery.

"By the way, that lilacs and lilies aftershave you're using is really girly," she added, grinning at him.

He glared at her, which made her smile all the wider. "As to side-effects," he said, ignoring her, "They do indeed sound as if they could be caused by the various transformations… that those changes should begin so soon, however, is somewhat troubling…" He lapsed into thoughtful silence.

"So… am I gonna be a freak of nature?" said Willow after a moment.

"More so than you already are, you mean?" said Edwin before he could stop himself. Willow punched him in the arm. "Ow! Fine, fine. I don't know."

"Well… at least it's good stuff so far. I'm not getting hairy in places I shouldn't, at least." Willow took another sip of wine. They were working their way through the bottle rather fast.

"I really don't want to contemplate that," said Edwin. "I can only assume that the magical properties of the cloak have begun working their way into your system from the really very impressively complicated spell structure inherent in the cloak itself. Presumably, since the spell is linked so closely to biological change it means that the transformations you've gone through have linked your human essence to the wolf's. It's really quite remarkable. The cloak itself wasn't even made before the spell was, which is unusual in and of itself; usually one enchants an item and is done with it, but the cloak seems to have actually been a part of the magical process from the first thread to the last. Whoever made it seems to have woven the magic into it in-between the strands. (If I can understand this I can understand anything. Just a little more time…)"

"Truly you have a dizzying intellect," said Willow, leaning her chin on her hand and smiling at him.

"Wait until I get going!" exclaimed Edwin. "… where was I?"

"Thaumaturgical energy woven into the cloak itself, thereby presumably aiding both caster and castee alike in the transmogrification of human or demihuman and wolf," replied Willow, taking another sip.

"Precisely!" Edwin exclaimed, then paused. "Where did you learn all those words? Been reading a dictionary in your spare time, have you?" he added, remembering at the last moment to add in an insult or it wouldn't have been a proper conversation with her at all.

Willow grinned and stood. "I grew up in Candlekeep, Edwin," she said, taking his empty glass. "Just because I didn't become a mage doesn't mean I'm an idiot. Some people actually _like_ grubbing around in the dirt. More wine?"

"Yes, please," Edwin replied automatically. As she walked off towards the bar he turned to look at the young man he'd seen giving him dirty looks earlier. He was currently engaged talking to a girl who was giggling quite a lot and seemed to enjoy twirling her hair around her finger.

Well, not everyone had Edwin's good taste, after all. Well... better taste, anyway.


	21. Delays

Edwin awoke next morning without opening his eyes, for fear of too much sunlight at one time. His head pounded even as it lay on the soft pillow (not as soft as in Thay, of course, but… adequate). Something tickled his nose. He brushed it away. It felt like hair.

He tried to remember what exactly he had imbibed last night and when he might have come up to his room to pass out. He could barely remember anything beyond a fairly pleasant encounter with Willow and a bottle of wine.

Wait, wait, there was more wine after that, said the bit of his brain that was unhindered by the remaining haze of alcohol. (It was a very, very lonely bit, that was for certain.)

Yes, more wine, he agreed. And then… yet more wine.

Well, that was stupid, his mind answered back.

Well, yes, he admitted. Especially around i her /i . But I can hardly refuse myself a good glass of wine simply because of the company involved therein. Besides, I've promised myself away for a year, I deserve to get drunk over that, certainly. Of course, by that reasoning I suppose I should have gotten drunk alone instead of with the person I hired myself out to… gah, my head hurts.

Look, it's your own fault about the 'serving for a year' thing, he retorted.

Oh, shut up, he replied, still keeping his eyes closed.

I can't, I'm you, he answered.

Edwin sighed. Whatever it was tickled his nose again. He brushed irritably at it.

Besides, his brain continued, Who knows what you might have done if you drank too much? It's bad enough for Willow, and you're a mage! You were the one contemplating what Imoen might do if she got drunk. What a hypocrite you are…

The running commentary continued in the back of his mind, but Edwin didn't listen because he had suddenly gone cold. What i might /i he have done? Last time, he'd at least been sober while Willow was making silly passes at him. This time, however… He might have… might have…

His nose tickled once again. He didn't dare touch it. He tried desperately to remember what had happened last night after he'd finished getting quite inebriated.

Let's see, said his mind, distracted from its rant. First you both wanted to be sick, as I recall. But you weren't—that was a nice change of pace. Then… um, then I think you escorted Willow upstairs to her room. And after she had managed to get the key in the lock (she thought she was blind for a moment there, as I recall), she turned (swayed, more like) to you and said, "So, Eddie, I've got my room all to myself. Wanna come in?" in some very suggestive tones, only she slurred about half of it so it wasn't particularly appealing.

The girl had a drinking problem. Still, Edwin almost didn't want to hear what was coming next. His memory continued rolling.

So, um… alright, this bit's a little fuzzy, but I'm fairly certain you said, "Not if you were the last woman in the multiverse," that was a little mean, Edwin, alcohol must make you cranky… but in any case, she didn't seem too upset. She just said, "We'll see about that, Edwin," and went inside and closed the door and… let's see… ah, yes, you went to your own room and couldn't manage to get the key in the lock so you blasted it open and then you collapsed into bed here.

Edwin heaved a sigh of relief. His nose tickled again.

But that doesn't explain this infernal hair, he said to himself. If it isn't attached to her head, what is it attached to?

Open your eyes and look, you fool, he replied to himself.

He did. His vision was blurry, so he couldn't see anything for a moment, but eventually his eyes focused on… the wolf cloak. Under his nose. The ruff of wolf hair around the collar had been the cause of his discomfort. He sighed again.

He must have been carrying the cloak when he collapsed into bed. He looked at his door and saw a melted lump instead of a doorknob. Willow was nowhere in sight, and certainly not in the bed with him.

That's a relief, he thought.

div align"center" ------------------------------ /div 

Downstairs, Willow herself was sitting at the bar and trying not to think about what a drunken idiot she was. She was assisted somewhat in this endeavour by Imoen, who chose that moment to sit next to her and sigh heavily.

"What's up?" asked Willow, lifting her head from the polished wood.

Imoen sighed again. Then she said, "Nothin'."

Willow frowned. "C'mon, Immy," she began.

"Nah, I don't wanna complain," replied Imoen. She sighed again.

Willow was struck for the first time that, in a group full of what were essentially loudmouths, Imoen (who sometimes seemed the loudest of them all) had never once complained about anything. Viconia loudly declared her distaste for the "males," the food, and the walking. Edwin shouted from the rooftops his dislike of getting "monkey guts" on his robes. Jaheira made no secret of the fact that she thought everyone was much too annoying. Even Khalid had once had a spat with Edwin over something the wizard had said to Jaheira. But Imoen simply smiled through it all and didn't protest anything.

Willow suddenly felt very, very guilty.

"Um," she said.

"It's just…" began Imoen, idly rolling a coin back and forth along her knuckles, "I kinda… miss Garrick."

Willow stared at her. "But once you knew he was all lovey-dovey over you you couldn't stand him," she pointed out.

Imoen nodded, looking downcast. "I know, it's just that I've only just realized how nice it was to be the object of a crush instead of the one doing the mooning, for once," she said. She sighed yet again.

Willow thought about this. "Well, I s'pose I wouldn't know about that," she said. "But it makes sense."

Imoen began flipping the coin and catching it with the same hand instead. "You've had more experience with it than I have, Wil," she said. She declined to bring Edwin into the conversation, convinced as she was that he was probably upstairs slicking his hair back or something solely for Willow's benefit.

Willow shook her head. "What about that stable boy Winthrop hired that one time?" she suggested. "He had it really bad for you."

Imoen looked at her. "Really? I never knew that!"

"Well, why do you think he was gone within the week?" said Willow, grinning.

Imoen's eyes widened. "That must've been during Puffguts' 'protective' phase!"

"And I know for a fact that several of the younger guards used to ask to patrol around the inn just so they could get a good look at you," said Willow.

Imoen sat up straighter and smoothed ineffectually at her hair. "They did?"

"Yep!" said Willow. "Of course, that was usually futile, since you barely ever actually did your chores," she added.

Imoen beamed. "I still kinda miss Garrick, though," she said.

"Well, maybe we'll see him in Baldur's Gate," said Willow. "Maybe we'll get lucky and there won't be any delays on the road, either."

div align"center" ------------------------------ /div 

"I really should learn just to keep my big fat mouth shut," said Willow to Imoen later as they listened to three fishermen tell their story. They'd cornered the party at their collection of shacks huddled next to the river and proceeded to give them a sob story about how a priestess of Umberlee was sinking their boats.

"The bitch has been torturing us for months!" said one, a rude fellow named Jebadoah.

"(I can't imagine why.)" muttered Edwin.

"We tried to get some paladin passing by to help us, but he hasn't come back," said the third fisherman, whose name Willow hadn't caught.

"So what exactly does this have to do with us?" said Willow, refraining from yawning.

"Well… you're adventurers, right?" said Sonner, the apparent leader of the group. "Can't you go rough her up a little, make her stop?"

"What's it worth to you?" replied Willow.

The three fishermen looked at each other shiftily. "I've got a weapon my grandfather found while adventuring," said Sonner. "Do this for us and you'll get it. I'm sure it's magical."

"Hmm," said Willow, and made a show of consulting Jaheira. Jaheira rolled her eyes but nodded. "Alright, then, if we come across her we'll see about remedying the situation," she said.

Sonner nodded and they left. Willow sighed in relief as they walked away.

"They seemed like really unpleasant people," said Imoen.

"They sure did," agreed Willow.

"It sounds to me as if this woman has the right idea," said Viconia. "Unruly males may be entertaining, but only in ways that are very painful to them." She paused to wink at Edwin. Edwin ignored her as he contemplated the best way to market his own brand of "Lycanthropy Cloaks."

Willow, apparently over her initial misgivings about her behavior towards Edwin the other night, slowed so that Edwin drew even with her in the line. "Hey there, Little Red Riding Hood," she said, also winking at him. Behind her, Viconia sniggered.

Edwin blinked and looked at Willow. "Excuse me?" he said.

"You haven't ever heard the tale of Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf?" asked Willow.

"If it isn't a Thayvian folktale it is hardly worth hearing," said Edwin haughtily.

"Well, guess who's Little Red Riding Hood here?" asked Willow, reaching up and flapping the bright red hood attached to Edwin's robes. He frowned at her.

"I am hardly i little /i ," he said in slightly injured tones. Willow shrugged.

"When exactly did you make it your mission in life to embarrass me?" said Edwin suddenly.

Willow contemplated this a moment before saying, "Umm… pretty much the moment I met you."

Edwin snorted and muttered, "(Lucky me.)"

"C'mon, Eddie, you have to admit that you like all the attention," said Willow. "Just like Little Red Riding Hood did." Edwin stared incredulously at her. She drew her lips back in a wolfish smile that revealed her sharper canine teeth nicely.

"You've been practicing that, haven't you?" said Edwin after a moment of staring at her.

"You know it!" replied Willow, and giggled. Edwin almost smiled before he remembered he was a scary Red Wizard and so should act like one.

div align"center" ------------------------------ /div 

"Stop! You are trespassing on my land-home!"

Willow and Imoen exchanged glances, astonished, as a young girl of perhaps twelve marched forward. She was wearing a set of blue robes that were much too long for her, so that she was constantly in danger of tripping over them, and brandishing a large flail. A tall man in platemail walked after her, looking less threatening, though he had a large sword at his side.

"First I have to deal with this plated goon and now you idiots come tromping up and nearly stomp all over my garden!" shouted the girl, stamping her foot. Edwin edged away from the patch of turned earth he had nearly stepped in.

The "plated goon" stepped forward and said, "Tenya, really, is there any reason for such name-calling?"

"Don't talk to me, you mealy-mouthed, yellow-bellied, flower-spewing phony!" said Tenya, turning back to him and waving the flail around some more. "I know all of you are here to convince me not to give those goat-buggering fish-guts trouble!"

"Kid has quite the mouth on her," muttered Imoen. Edwin nodded, looking impressed.

"I take it you're the paladin the fishermen talked about?" Willow said, addressing the man. He turned to her and said, "I am, my Lady. Well, technically I'm just a squire at the moment. Er. Ajantis is my name," he finished, holding out a hand. Willow shook it.

"I know you're talking over my head so just stop it!" ranted Tenya.

"Well, it's kinda hard not to," said Willow. Tenya stopped and stared at her.

"Was that a short joke?" she said.

"Pretty much, yeah," replied Willow.

Tenya's eyes narrowed to slits. "Alright, that's it!"

She lunged forward and swung. She missed, because Willow had put a hand to her forehead and was holding her at bay with little effort. Willow made a show of stifling a yawn as Tenya stepped back.

Tenya stared around at the group, slowly turning red. She sputtered in outrage. Finally she sat on the ground and put her head in her hands.

"Why won't people just leave me alone?" she said miserably.

Ajantis kneeled next to her and patted her shoulder consolingly. She punched him in the nose.

"Get away from me, smeghead!" she said as he reeled back and put a hand to his face.

Willow sat cross-legged in front of the girl. Imoen joined them on the ground and grinned at Tenya. "Okay, kid. What's this all about?" said Willow.

Tenya wiped at her nose and glared at them, but said, "Those mud-brained fishermen killed my mother! I'll bet they neglected to mention i that /i when they gave you fools this so-called 'quest'!"

"Killed the little girl's mother!" shouted Minsc. "Such evil cannot be tolerated! Even little Boo shakes with righteous fury! See it? It's small, so look closely. Trust me, it's there."

"Well, yes, they did," said Willow as Imoen made a sympathetic cooing sort of noise. "When did this happen?"

"Three months ago," said Tenya, sniffling. "They came to our house and asked if she would do… something for them, I don't know, Mother didn't ever let me listen to business. But when she wouldn't they dragged her out and beat her and Umberlee couldn't do anything because they weren't near the water. I've been sinking their boats ever since."

"And how have you been sinking them?" asked Imoen.

Tenya gave her a suspicious look but pulled a small clay bowl, painted and glazed in a wave pattern, from the depths of her robes. "With this."

"Can I see it?" asked Imoen, holding out her hand. Tenya hesitated, but put the bowl in it.

While Imoen examined the bowl, Willow said, "So you've simply been getting revenge for this, then?"

Tenya nodded.

"Has anyone been killed?" continued Willow.

"Besides my mother, you mean?" snarled Tenya. Willow nodded. "No. I just wanted to ruin their livelihood. Although if the idiots can't abandon ship fast enough it's not my problem," she added.

"A fine plan," said Edwin from above. Tenya blinked up at him and said, "Are you making fun of me?"

Edwin shook his head.

"Eddie appreciates taking action against stupidity," said Willow.

"Well, this is certainly a powerful object," said Imoen then, handing the bowl back to Tenya, who wrapped it tenderly in her robes again. "I say we go back and rough up those guys instead, too."

"Tenya," chimed in Ajantis, apparently recovered from his aching nose, "Do you promise not to sink any more boats if we negotiate with these men?"

Tenya made a rude noise with her lips.

"I think it'll be the best way," said Willow.

Tenya sighed. "Fine, fine. But if they don't cooperate I won't hesitate to keep messing things up for them!"

Willow held out a hand. "Do we have an accord?" she asked. Tenya shook it. "Great! Except for the 'back to the fishermen' part. Yet more walking." She and Imoen sprang up and they all, including Ajantis, headed back south.

div align"center" ------------------------------ /div 

"You took the time to talk to her?" said Sonner, sounding extremely disapproving.

"Finding that the evil witch you're supposed to intimidate is, in fact, a little girl will often prompt that sort of reaction," said Willow dryly.

"Well, then I guess we won't be paying you," said Jebadoah, and stepped back.

Ajantis put up a hand. "Hold, Jebadoah. She also told us a bit of a story."

"One that didn't have a very happy ending," added Imoen.

"And unless we help to rewrite it a bit, it still won't have a very jaunty wrap-up," said Willow.

"And in this case, 'helping' means 'convincing you fools to act like vaguely decent human beings'," said Jaheira.

"Or else," added Edwin.

"Or else the Boot of Justice will be administered to your Evil Backsides!" finished Minsc.

"So what'll it be?" asked Willow. "Keep up your silly and entirely unnecessary quest for 'revenge' and meet the Boot of Justice, or give up and go back to leading your little lives?"

All three fishermen glared at them.

"Fine!" said Sonner. "But if that little bitch comes anywhere near here, why, I'll—"

"Threats do not a man make!" said Minsc, and hit Sonner on the top of his head with one huge bunched fist. "Or so Boo says," he added as Sonner collapsed to the ground.

"Well," said Ajantis, turning to the party as the two standing men ran into their cottages, leaving Sonner to lie in the mud. "I thank you for coming along when you did."

"Yeah, she might've hurt you otherwise," said Imoen, sniggering.

Ajantis blushed and ran a hand through his dark hair in a sheepish sort of way. "Erm, yes. Anyway, if you are heading back that way and will be telling Tenya of these negotiations, I should be heading south again."

"W-where are you g-going?" asked Khalid kindly.

Ajantis stood up straighter and puffed out his chest. "I am traveling to Amn to join the Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart in Athkatla!" he proclaimed proudly.

"(Oh, goody, a paladunce in the making.)" murmured Edwin. Willow sniggered under her breath.

"Well, g-good luck," said Khalid, shaking Ajantis' hand. Ajantis grinned in a most un-paladinlike way.

"Thank you! Farewell!" Ajantis started south again.

"Maybe now we'll finally get to go to the city," said Imoen. "If Willow doesn't jinx us again!" she joked, nudging Willow in the ribs with her elbow.

Willow opened her mouth, thought better of speaking, and closed it again. Edwin breathed a theatrical sigh of relief.

div align"center" ------------------------------ /div 

"Maybe it doesn't even matter what I say," said Willow later as the guards at the gate stared them down, "Maybe I just have to be here. Maybe I'm just bad luck."

"No papers, no getting in," said one guard.

"The city has been closed until further notice," said the other.

"So I suggest you get moving," said the first.

"And fast," said the second.

The group moved back to a respectable distance and looked at each other.

"Maybe we could get Tenya to make a tidal wave and sweep us in!" said Imoen, only half-joking.

"That would not be good news for Minsc," said Minsc. "Minsc is wearing very heavy armor, after all."

"Perhaps—" began Jaheira, but was cut off as someone shouted at them from the direction of the gate. They turned to see a figure waving at them. They moved closer cautiously.

"Hail, adventurers!" said the figure, moving to meet them halfway. "I have been hearing much of your little group. Well, perhaps 'little' is not the word," he added, looking at the wide array of them. "I am Scar, of the Flaming Fist."

Willow and Viconia moved closer together imperceptibly.

"I would like to extend an invitation into the city to you," continued Scar, unaware of the two women's nervous behavior. "I have need of some adventurers to help the city, you see. Please, come in, get yourselves settled, and then come to the Flaming Fist headquarters in the south west of the city. We will talk more of it then." He looked over the group once more, nodded, and turned away to talk to the guards. The guards nodded and beckoned the group forward.

They went through the gates, which were very large, and came out to an even larger city. It was huge. Everywhere you looked, there were people. Imoen and Willow, who had been becoming increasingly unimpressed with most of what they saw, turned to stare at each other in wide-eyed wonder. Edwin looked around with a slight frown on his face, nodded once, and said, "No, it is as I suspected. It does not compare to any city in Thay." He looked pleased now.

"Oh, i no /i ," said Willow, with such despair in her voice that Edwin turned to look at her with knit brows. He saw the cause of her tone, however, and also groaned heavily.

Jaheira turned and saw Elminster walking towards them, a jovial glint in his eye and a smirk on his lips. Even she rolled her eyes a little.

"Ho there!" said Elminster as he approached.

Before he could say anything else, however, Willow said, "Okay, let me speed forward a few seconds into the future. Here's what you're going to say. You're going to say, 'Hi there, I'm Elminster, I'm a really famous mage who's come to torture you with unspecific hints and i incredibly irritating poetic speech /i which serves absolutely no purpose other than to illustrate how much better I am than you. I suggest you pay attention to seemingly unimportant stuff because, hey! Your life is one big drama. Please, accept this cryptic message as a gift, because otherwise I really don't give a damn about you.' That's essentially what you're going to say, isn't it?"

Elminster opened his mouth to speak, closed it, and simply looked at Willow. Edwin actually grinned.

"Perhaps I have been a bit… cryptic, as you say," said Elminster, dropping his usual speech patterns. "However, it is simply because there are many things for you to discover in the future, and I wouldst not—would not influence you in either direction. Now, if you are quite done abusing me, I will leave you to your adventuring. Humor an old man one last bit of advice?" He didn't wait for Willow to answer. "Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. But be aware that one can be one's own worst enemy in the first place." He walked off and melded into the crowd effortlessly.

Edwin was still grinning. "Gee, I feel a little guilty now," said Willow.

"You'll get over it soon enough," said Edwin, putting a hand on her and Imoen's shoulders to steer them towards a shop called "Sorcerous Sundries."

"Yeah, you'll get over it while you're buying me stuff!" said Imoen. Willow shook her head and smiled.

The group split up, agreeing to meet up at the nearest large inn, and went about exploring the city.


	22. Thieves

The party spent most of their first day in the city shopping. Willow gave quizzical looks to various books ("The Joy of Hex," "Magic for Morons," "Divination for Fun and Prophet," and the novel "The Lord of the Things: Fellowship of the Whatsits" among them) while Edwin and Imoen examined several different sets of mage robes. Edwin had decided that Imoen was ready to look the part of a mage as well as act it.

"The thing to look for in mage robes," he was explaining to his apprentice, "Besides correct measurements, is easy mobility and plenty of pockets. (Protective enchantments as well, if we can get Miss Pinchpenny to spring for it.)"

"Only the best for my Immy," said Willow, coming up to look at the robes as well. Imoen beamed at her. "You too, Eddie, if we can afford it."

Edwin hastily concealed a greedy look and went back to picking his way through the fabrics. Willow wandered off and started leafing through a copy of "Parry Hotter and the Insanely Scary Big Green Dragon" before she heard Imoen give a cry of triumph and went back to look. Imoen was holding out a robe that looked vaguely familiar.

"It's just like the one Thalantyr was selling!" she said, hugging it to her chest in delight. "Ooooh, it's so pretty and silvery and embroidered!"

"And still expensive," said Willow to herself in an undertone. Edwin reached out and grabbed at the price tag as Imoen danced with the robe.

"Indeed," he said after a moment. "No matter, we will simply leave the purchase of my robes for later."

Imoen stopped dancing and stared at him. So did Willow. He looked irritated.

"The purchase of one's first set of robes is an important step!" he said. "Who am I to deny such an experience to anyone? (I remember when I bought my first set… those were the days.)" He sighed.

Imoen continued to look at him with very wide eyes and for a moment Willow thought she could see her lip quivering. Before she could look again, however, Imoen had launched herself at Edwin and was hugging him tightly around the neck and sobbing, "Oh, Eddie, you're so nice to me-he-heeeee!"

Edwin's eyes widened to the size of saucers as his face reddened. He gave a pleading look to Willow as he patted awkwardly at Imoen's shoulder. Willow simply smiled so widely that he could count every one of her teeth if he wished.

Finally Imoen pulled back and, acting like nothing had happened, skipped up to the counter and proceeded to talk the shop owner's ear off. Edwin rubbed ruefully at his neck.

"(Why me?)" he muttered to himself.

"Because, Red," said Willow on her own way to the counter, "All that bluster and pomp makes you a highly satisfying target."

Edwin muttered to himself as they two girls paid for the robes and Imoen excitedly dashed into a changing room to put them on and "arrange them correctly." When Imoen came out, Willow was somewhat startled to find that she actually looked quite lovely in them. The silver of the fabric set off her red hair nicely.

"I feel so… so magey!" exclaimed Imoen as she twirled for the other two. "I think I'll have to find some way to make them a little more… er, pant-like, though. I feel like I'm about to trip over the hem any minute."

"Altering fabrics with spells on them is a dangerous business. I will have to supervise you. (And hope I don't get blown up high enough to meet the gods.)" Edwin nodded.

"Thanks, Eddie," said Imoen, grinning at him and hoisting her pack onto her shoulder once again. "Now let's go do something fun!"

"You two go," said Willow. "I need to find a smithy. My swords are getting ridiculously dull."

Imoen pouted as they emerged onto the street again. "That can wait, can't it?"

Willow shook her head. "Best to get it done while I still remember. It shouldn't take long, though, we'll go for a walk or something once it's done." With that, Willow set off in a seemingly random direction, leaving Imoen and Edwin standing in the middle of the square. Quoth, who had been absent until now, squawked and flapped off of the roof of Sorcerous Sundries to follow Willow.

Imoen turned to Edwin with a big grin on her face. Edwin took an involuntary step backwards.

"So, Eddie, whatcha wanna do?" chirped Imoen. Edwin thought quickly before saying, "I do believe it's time for me to go… somewhere else. And wait. For… something. (This isn't working very well, is it?)"

"You just don't wanna spend time with me!" lamented Imoen, making her eyes go all big and teary. (She'd practiced this trick for many years and only just recently gotten it right.)

Edwin opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, and then pointed behind Imoen, proclaiming, "Look, a three-headed monkey!"

"Where??" said Imoen, twirling in hopes of catching a glimpse of it before it ran away. There was nothing, however, and when she turned back Edwin had gone.

Imoen sighed to herself. "You really need to stop having the attention span of a goldfish, you know, Immy," she said to herself. She looked around. "Well, there's only one way to become familiar with a city, and that's to explore the hell out of it!"

And so Imoen marched bravely off around a corner, where she ran into someone. Literally.

div align"center" ------------------------------ /div 

Edwin walked into the Elfsong Inn and Tavern with a slight apprehensive feeling, which he quickly beat back with a proverbial barbed club before any of the patrons could see it on his face. The common room was filled with shady characters, doing shady things, like quietly exchanging coins for small pouches or drinking staggering amounts of alcohol and then hitting one another on the head. Edwin himself stood out like a beacon, red robes shining amongst the various dark fabrics of the people around him. As a Red Wizard, of course, he had a certain reputation to uphold, and so he drew himself to his full height and marched up to the counter, where a large and slightly drunk bartender asked, "What's yer poison?"

Edwin eyed the bartender's hands, wiping a glass with a rag. The glass was growing steadily dirtier. "(On second thought, perhaps not.)" he muttered to himself, and walked off. The bartender shrugged noncommittally and spat on the glass again.

Viconia, as it turned out, had already established a table for herself in one corner of the room, and had actually thrown her hood back to allow for a rare breath of fresh air. The inn's patrons eyed her somewhat warily but so far no one had tried to hang her, which she had taken as a good sign. Edwin collapsed into a chair beside her and sighed. She looked at him smirkingly.

"Where are your pet chickadees?" she said in her usual mocking tones. "It is rare to see you without at least one of them."

"I can hardly help it if I am simply so enchanting that they must spend all their free time with me," replied Edwin, secretly wondering if perhaps he should have stayed with Imoen. There was no telling what she might get up to in a city like this.

"Of course," continued Viconia, ignoring him, "Willow is hardly a chickadee anymore. I suppose I will never fully understand these animal allusions you surfacers seem to make so much."

"No," agreed Edwin, "Willow is becoming more of the lupine nature, I would say. (And has the teeth to prove it.)"

Viconia nodded, and suddenly smiled a wicked smile. "I assume you are reaping the benefits of such a change, yes? She must be treating you to a little of her own… what did you call it? 'Intricate Insult'?"

Edwin shifted uncomfortably in his chair and said, "Erotic Onslaught, and I have no idea what you're talking about."

Viconia tilted her head to one side and examined Edwin very closely. Edwin shifted again under her gaze. "You keep saying that," she said eventually. "I think you truly mustn't know what it means, then."

"A Red Wizard is no stranger to innuendo," huffed Edwin. "(You should hear some of the jokes they make at meetings.) No, I simply take the polite route and ignore that which utilizes it. Such as our esteemed leader. (Especially when she's drunk.) I have no idea as to the… er, 'effects' of the change on her… 'drive'."

Viconia took a sip of ale and said, conversationally, "So, Edwin, have you always been an idiot or is this a recent development?"

div align"center" ------------------------------ /div 

Imoen picked herself up off the ground and, brushing the dust off her new robes, said, "Hey, I'm walkin' here!"

The young man who had bowled her over hastily went to help her in her dusting efforts, thought better of it, and said, "Sorry, I must've not been looking where I was going."

"Well, maybe next time you should pay better attention!" said Imoen, and then stopped and stiffened. "Speaking of paying attention, I'll have my money back now," she added.

The man froze as he was about to walk off, turned back to her, and grinned. "Good eye. Alright, I'll not steal from someone clever enough to catch me at it." He held out the purse. It dropped into Imoen's hand. She weighed it carefully.

"There's exactly ten coins missing from it," she said after a moment of being examined by him. He grinned again.

"You must be a fellow thief," he said as he handed back the missing coins. "Say… my guildmaster told me to be on the lookout for newcomers… you just came into the city today, didn't you?"

Imoen gave him her best penetrating stare. (She'd been practicing that, too.) He blinked at her. She sighed. "Yeah, just today."

"Well, then," said the young man, clapping his hands aristocratically, as if he had just arranged for a nice little dinner in his mansion. "Tell you what, the guild could use a little outside help, if you know what I mean. Go to those houses up there," he pointed at a group of townhouses, "And look in the one in the best condition. The password is 'Fafhrd.'"

"'Fafhrd'?" asked Imoen in tones of deepest suspicion. "How do you even spell that?"

The young man shrugged. "Beats me. I'm Niklos, by the way. See you in the guild!" He walked into the crowd and Imoen immediately lost sight of him.

I've really got to learn how to do that, myself, she thought as she headed northwards towards the houses. Once there, she knocked hesitantly on the door of the nicest-looking house. No one answered. She knocked again.

A voice called from in the house, saying, "Just come in, you ninny!" Imoen cringed slightly, but obeyed.

Inside, the house was furnished beautifully, but everything had a thin layer of dust on it, as though nothing was ever used there. A tall woman emerged from the shadows and said, "Well?"

"Er… fafhrd?" Imoen tried.

The woman nodded. "Next time, don't knock. It only draws attention to us."

"Being in a big townhouse in the middle of a city isn't drawing attention to yourselves?" said Imoen before she could stop herself.

"There's a big difference between 'drawing attention' and 'appearing to be rich enough that no one wants to cause trouble for you'," responded the woman. She jerked her thumb towards a door on the opposite wall. "The guild's downstairs. I can tell you're new, so here's a word of advice: If you can impress Narlen, you can impress anyone. So talk to him before anyone more important."

"You sure are a lot more helpful than that old Elminster," said Imoen.

The woman snorted. "Yeah, sure, you've talked to Elminster. And I'm Drizzt the Drow. Go on, kid, you're blocking the door."

Imoen frowned, but went through to find an equally disused kitchen. Another door led to a dark stairwell, which she made her way down carefully, and emerged into a dimly-lit hallway. This hallway led into a very large common room that was chock-full of thieves.

There were hooded characters everywhere. Some were drinking, some were smoking, some were doing both at the same time, and some were simply standing or sitting around looking nonchalant. (Looking nonchalant, Imoen reflected, was a very large part of being a thief, after all. One had to look as if one belonged wherever they were, which seemed to be a special skill that was only taught to a successful degree in thieves' guilds such as this one. Nonchalance had to be practiced. It was ironic, really.)

Several men were sitting or standing in a corner at their own large table. They looked to be some of the more senior members of the guild; several of them had streaks of white in their hair, or managed to convey their advanced skill in other ways, like the simple grace with which they moved. One, who looked to be one of the younger of the group, was standing and making wild gestures as he told what appeared to be a very entertaining story. Several of the men laughed uproariously. Imoen approached to hear better.

"So I's at daggers drawin' with him, and he drops the swag and runs!" he was saying in a thickly-accented, theatric voice. The men surrounding him laughed again and he appeared content.

"Ye never fail ta please a crowd, eh, Narlen?" said one, taking a large drink out of a mug and wiping at his bushy mustache with his sleeve.

"You're Narlen, then?" said Imoen, and clapped her hand over her mouth as they all turned to stare at her. "Er…"

Narlen blinked, but recovered quickly. "Aye," he said, "Narlen Darkwalk, at yer service. I say, ye must be one o' the new sneakthiefs ol' Niklos has been recruiting. Come ta get a little o' the jink for yerself afore us oldies beat ye to it, I presume?"

"Er… yes?" said Imoen.

Narlen quirked an eyebrow at her and said, "Ye wouldn't happen to be a bit… slow, would ye?"

Imoen overcame her temporary shyness in a flash. "Hey, I'm not stupid! I'm just not used to this kinda thing!"

Narlen nodded. "Aye, that explains the robes." The other men around them followed his lead and nodded knowingly.

Imoen looked down at her new robes, which had gathered a little dust on the way down, and said, "Well, I am training to be a mage… but I can pick a lock better'n anyone I know. Just 'cause I have better diction than you mush-mouthed cityfolk doesn't mean I'm not a thief through and through!" She drew herself up proudly, but shrank a little as she saw the looks they were giving her.

Suddenly Narlen broke into a wide grin and the others chuckled heartily. "I like you, girl!" said Narlen, pulling Imoen over and throwing an arm around her shoulder. She blushed slightly. "Ye stick with me and you'll go far!"

"Hear hear!" said one of the men at the table, lifting a mug and accidentally sloshing a bit of ale down its side as he toasted her. He took a great gulp of the ale and smacked his lips before saying, "What's your name, girl?"

"Imoen," said Imoen.

"Right pretty name, Imoen," said Narlen, shaking her with his arm around her shoulder. "Well, then, Imoen, sit down and us old men'll think o' something for you to do…"

div align"center" ------------------------------ /div 

Edwin had just retired to his room and was lying on his bed, hands pillowing his neck, staring up at a crack in the ceiling when someone burst into his room. He barely had time to react before a silvery blur hit and he found that Imoen was jumping up and down on the edge of the bed, shouting, "Guess what guess what guess what guess what!"

Edwin reached out and pushed. Imoen managed to land on her feet. She put her hands on her hips and looked at him indignantly. "Hey, that wasn't very nice!"

"It's nicer than being sick on you," he replied, struggling to sit up. "What has you so excited, then? (More excited than usual, anyway.)"

Imoen grinned and hopped from one foot to the other, indignation forgotten. "I found a thieves' guild, Eddie, a real live thieves' guild! It's underground and it's real big and it has all sorts of undesirables frequenting it and I'm starting to learn thieves' cant and I met Narlen Darkwalk and I think he really likes me and it was so absolutely great, Eddie, I mean magic is good too, but I really kinda missed stealing stuff, not because I'm greedy or anything but because it was really kinda fun and I'm glad I found this place now but anyway so this Narlen really likes me, I can tell, he let me sit with him and his friends and everything and he even found some stuff for me to do for the guild and so I'm going to be out till probably at least midnight tonight, Eddie, so we'll have to postpone my lessons till probably at least tomorrow but anyway, I really like Narlen, Eddie, he's as nice to me as you are, actually nicer, really, 'cause let's face it, Eddie, you're kinda mean sometimes, but anyway he's sorta like Puffguts only younger and more handsome and he seems so experienced and and and you're giving me a blank look now so I think I'm just gonna go be, um, elsewhere, bye Eddie!" She waved frantically and sprinted out of the room, slamming the door behind her in her excitement.

Edwin blinked, shook his head, and settled back down to read a book.

div align"center" ------------------------------ /div 

"What could be taking him so long?"

Khalid looked at Jaheira and shrugged. He didn't know what could be taking him so long. "P-perhaps he has b-been delayed, dear."

"That much I had surmised for myself, Khalid," snapped Jaheira. Khalid smiled. Jaheira had been on edge since their experiences in the Cloakwood mines, and even more antsy since their arrival in Baldur's Gate. And when she was nervous, Jaheira got sarcastic.

More sarcastic than usual, anyway, he thought as they sat on a bench and observed the passersby. No one paid the least bit attention to them, caught up as they were in their own lives. It was probably a good thing they hadn't a clue about the schemes the party had only just begun to scratch the surface of…

"Khalid, Jaheira!" came a friendly voice from out of the crowd. A friendly face followed after it, and a short man in mage robe emerged from the throngs of people and waved at the two half-elves with a wide smile on his face.

Jaheira jumped up as he approached, a smile working its way onto her own face, and she said, "Dermin, it is good to see you again."

"You're looking as lovely as always, Jaheira," said Dermin, embracing the woman. "And Khalid—ah, cheerful as ever," he said as he turned to clasp hands with Khalid. Khalid grinned at him.

"Terribly sorry I'm so late, I know it must have inconvenienced you terribly, Jaheira," said Dermin, winking at her. Jaheira had the grace to look slightly sheepish. "I was delayed somewhat by a charming young girl asking directions… had the most peculiar golden eyes…"

Khalid and Jaheira exchanged looks, and Dermin nodded, as if this confirmed his thoughts. "Yes, I thought perhaps it was your young ward. How is she doing, then? We have all taken the loss of Gorion very hard; Reviane cried her eyes out for three days after we received the news."

"Reviane has always been overly emotional," said Jaheira. Her expression softened, however, and she added, "Though we, too, are mourning still."

"Though w-we have m-moved on, for the most p-part," Khalid said. "More out of n-necessity than a t-true lack of feeling."

Dermin nodded. "Gorion would most certainly understand, I think. I have been hearing many things about the deeds you and your party have performed lately, however. Many things, indeed. Some in very entertaining form, I might add."

Jaheira looked puzzled. "Whatever do you mean, Dermin?"

Dermin's eyes twinkled merrily in that way he had. Khalid had always liked how Dermin could seem as though he were anyone's jolly grandfather. "Ah, you know how bards exaggerate things, Jaheira," said Dermin. "I'm sure you'll be hearing of your own escapades soon enough."

Jaheira snorted. "As long as they are not too ridiculous, I will be happy to ignore them."

"From what I hear, Jaheira," said Dermin, "Ridiculousness dogs your every step."

div align"center" ------------------------------ /div 

Willow walked into the Elfsong later, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the dark interior, and was immediately assaulted by Imoen, who was still floating on thiefly air from her visit. Willow tried to listen to everything Imoen was saying, and succeeded for the most part, though it was hard going for a while. Finally Imoen slumped in the chair at the table they had claimed and seemed to have said everything she could think of.

"So, let me get this straight…" said Willow, "You're going to be sneaking around the city with an older man at who knows what hour of the morning?" She noticed that Imoen had changed out of her robes and back into her usual pink tunic and trousers.

Imoen waved her hand as if to push away any allusions to indecent behavior. "He's actually not as old as he acts, y'know, and besides, he just sees me as a student!"

"You mean like Edwin sees you as a student," said Willow.

"Yeah, exactly! Well… maybe not exactly. I mean, I like Eddie and all, but Narlen is… er…"

"Nicer?" suggested Willow.

"Well, yeah," said Imoen.

"And I'll bet he's good-looking too, is that it?" attempted Willow.

"You've never even seen him!" said Imoen, sticking her tongue out at Willow.

"True," Willow conceded. She waited.

Imoen remained silent for a few moments. Finally she burst out, "Oh, alright, I think he's dreamy! Happy now?"

Willow grinned. "You liiiiike him?" she teased, knowing full well that Imoen tended to be rather fickle and would undoubtedly not even care that Willow had teased her about it later.

Imoen rolled her eyes, but she smiled at the same time. "Yeah, yeah, he's too old for me and it's kinda weird and I'm being totally pathetic, but he's just so worldly and stuff!"

"Perhaps I should come with you on this little foray," said Willow in mock stern tones. "Sounds like you might need a chaperone."

Imoen rolled her eyes again. "Narlen's not interested in a little girl like me," she said. "I'll just keep my crush a secret and worship him from afar, thanks. Besides, if you're going to start getting all big-sisterly on me I'm going to have to ask you to keep your propositions to Edwin to a minimum. You know, one every lifetime."

Willow turned red and shut up quickly after that.

div align"center" ------------------------------ /div 

Eventually Edwin came down from his room to buy some dinner, which would hopefully be prepared by someone with a better sense of personal hygiene than the bartender. He made his way through the crowds to find Willow, Viconia and Imoen chuckling over something. There were several empty mugs sitting on the table.

"What, dare I ask, is so funny?" he said, appropriating a chair out from under a large man who had been about to sit down.

"Oh, we were just explaining wolf packs to Viconia," said Imoen, an impish smile on her face. She leaned back in her chair and kicked out one leg, tripping someone who, as it turned out, had been about to go for Edwin's throat.

"Yes, it seems they have very complicated kinship systems," said Viconia, taking a sip of her ale, red eyes twinkling at Edwin from behind the mug.

"Minsc explained it to me," finished Willow. She downed the rest of her ale in one gulp and smacked her lips. Then she said, in determinedly casual tones, "Speaking of which, Eddie, wanna be my Alpha male?"

Edwin considered moving to another table, or perhaps another plane of existence, as the three women guffawed helplessly, but instead he waited for them to quiet down before saying, "Only if you'd like your pelt to adorn the wall of my study at home."

They collapsed into giggles again. Finally, Imoen stood up and stretched widely, accidentally knocking someone's axe out of its intended path and away from Edwin's skull. "Alright, guys, time for me to leave and go engage in some petty thievery!" she said cheerfully.

"Don't get yourself thrown in jail!" called Willow after her as Imoen sauntered out of the room.

"I give her ten minutes before she sets something on fire. (No, make that five.)"

Imoen grinned and shook her head and headed out to meet her roguish destiny.


	23. Revelations

Willow was in the Cloakwood mines again. Davaeorn again lay on the packed-dirt floor in front of Willow, blood leaking in fitful spurts from his throat. The eyes of the symbol above the altar winked at her in the failing light.

Willow couldn't move. Something was holding her feet to the floor, though she could twist the upper part of her body around in an attempt to find an exit. There wasn't one, but she kept flailing around, as if the more she struggled the more likely it would be that she could escape.

Gradually she became aware of a trickling sensation in sole of one boot, and looked down. The floor was covered in a thin layer of blood. She looked at the corpse of the wizard again and saw that the spurts of blood had turned into an outright flood, gushing from the jugular. There was definitely more than any body could hold. It was up to her knees already. Then it was up to her waist. And then her chest. And then it was under her arms. Willow was certainly not the tallest of women but this was simply... ridiculous. It lapped at her like water. The smell of it filled her nostrils. It seemed to be _trying_ to amass small waves to slap their way into her mouth.

It stopped as it reached just above her chin and she strained to keep her head above the tide. Imoen appeared, treading blood, in front of her. The symbol on the wall had long since been covered but the eyes managed to shine even through the thick, soupy fluid and lit up Imoen's face in a disturbing way, making her look like a skull herself.

"So many bodies," said Imoen, still staying afloat with apparent ease. "So much blood, and it doesn't bother you one bit. Did it ever?"

Willow tilted her head back in an effort not to inhale blood as she said, "Of course it bothered me!"

"Past tense," said Imoen with a slight sneer. It reminded Willow unnervingly of Edwin. But no, Edwin could never have packed so much absolute disregard into one of his. Imoen lifted her hand up, watching the blood drip from the tips of her fingers and splash into the main body again. "It's pretty, in a way, isn't it?"

"Only if you like the color red, I suppose," replied Willow, spitting. The tide was working its way slowly upwards again.

"I think we both know you like plenty of red things," said Imoen, again sneeringly. "Look, Willow, let's get to the point here: You're feeling guilty." Imoen's expression changed from harsh to almost cloyingly sweet; but there was still an undertone of hatred. "But I don't think you should. You were made, you see. Made to be what you are. Made to kill without mercy and regrets. It's the mark of your pathetic human mother that you even have the _ability_ to feel guilt. But you see, Wil, don't you, that you don't have to be human? Already there are signs—the wolf cloak sped up the inevitable."

"What, am I supposed to be a werewolf or something?" The blood was up to her ears now, but she couldn't tilt her head back down or the lower half of her face would be entirely submerged.

Imoen sniggered. "Hardly. Sharp teeth and yellow eyes don't have to pertain to wolves, do they?"

"The yellow eyes happened before the cloak, anyway," Willow said, more to herself than to Imoen.

"Exactly. Now, I ask you, in all your supposed 'education' at Candlekeep, did your Gorion ever teach you about the Time of Troubles? Did he happen to mention that—"

Imoen was cut off as a strange, wailing sort of sound came suddenly through the chamber. It was as if someone had combined a ghost and a flute and given it strange foreign words to sing. Willow thought it was vaguely female, though she couldn't quite tell as the blood was now covering her ears.

"Nevermind," said Imoen's voice in her head. Here it sounded less like Imoen and more like... something else. "I'm sure you'll find out soon anyway, one way or the other."

The blood closed over her head and a foot lashed out of the mire, catching her in the stomach. Her mouth opened by reflex as the air was knocked out of her and Willow jerked awake just as the blood flowed down her throat into her lungs.

* * *

Minsc sat down next to Willow and looked mournfully at the various empty tankards littering the table and floor around them. Edwin, across the wooden surface, gave him a sullen look and glanced over at Willow. She was passed out on top of the table, face down, arms flung out over the wood, like a discarded rag doll.

"Quoth is outside wondering what his little Willow is doing," said Minsc, mostly to Boo but also as a sort of aside to Edwin. "Minsc wonders if he was not simply hinting for Minsc to get his behind in here and see to rescuing Willow from the clutches of the evil Red Wizard."

Edwin scoffed. "What clutches? What exactly am I doing to her? (Psionic manipulation is best left to mindflayers... and gods.)"

Minsc consulted in whispers with Boo for a moment before turning to Edwin and saying, "Even Boo is not sure. But Minsc suspects that little Willow suffers from something very large haunting her mind. Minsc is very familiar with that sort of thing. And Minsc thinks it is in direct correlation to the amount of time Willow spends with you. 'Correlation' is Boo's word, however." Minsc nodded in scholarly companionship to Boo, who twitched his nose.

"I don't see how it—" began Edwin, but stopped as a haunting singing drifted through the inn. Both he and Minsc looked around for a bard, but saw nothing.

"(Am I going crazy?)" muttered Edwin. He turned back to Minsc. "You heard that also, yes?" Minsc nodded. "(Then again, he is perhaps not the best choice to ask that question. I probably am going crazy.)"

Willow jerked and lifted her head. One half of her face had the imprint of the wood grain of the table on it. She blinked.

"Is little Willow alright?" asked Minsc concernedly. Willow turned her eyes to him and Minsc was somewhat disconcerted to find that they were glowing fitfully. It passed as she blinked again, though, and he thought it must have been the lamplight.

"Whazzat sound?" she asked.

"Minsc is not sure, but it sounds like the wailing of a long-forgotten elven spirit in mourning for her dead husband," said Minsc. He stopped and listened a second more. "Or perhaps brother? No, husband."

Willow blinked some more, but said, "Okay then." She then went back to sleep, this time pillowing her head on her arms.

Minsc sighed. "Perhaps Minsc should carry her up to her room?" he asked Boo.

"No!" said Edwin sharply. Minsc looked at him, startled. Edwin continued, somewhat more calmly, "No, if she is indeed haunted by a, er, large presence in her mind, she must not be disturbed while she is... suffering from it. Who knows what could happen?" Minsc noticed that Edwin's eyes kept darting from Minsc's own to Willow's face and back again.

Minsc knitted his brows. "Minsc will stay and watch over her, then," he finally decided.

"I can watch over her perfectly well myself," said Edwin coldly.

Minsc brought Boo to his ear and listened, nodding occasionally. Then he said, "Minsc is not sure that is such a good idea. Willow seems to trust you, though Minsc is not sure why. Perhaps he has put a spell on her?" he asked Boo.

Boo squeaked.

"What do you mean, 'not the sort of spell I am thinking of?'"

Boo rolled his tiny hamster eyes.

Minsc sighed again. "In any case, Minsc will not leave her down here alone, or with the evil Red Wizard who insults Dynaheir's memory behind Minsc's back."

Edwin rubbed his temples. "Fine, fine, fine. I am allowed to sit wherever I choose, though, barbarian, and if I choose to sit here then I shall!" With that, he balanced his book huffily on the tabletop and disappeared behind it.

Minsc nodded to himself and began carving a tiny wooden sword for Boo.

* * *

Imoen made it as far as the gate to the northern part of the city before she got nervous. It was rather silent for a city, even at night, and the lamps flickered in the rising wind. It felt and sounded as though a storm were heading towards town, and she pulled her cloak closer around herself as she leaned on the stone wall and caught her bearings. Narlen had given her directions to the meeting place, but knowing where you going and actually walking there were two different things.

"Fancy meeting you here," said a voice behind her, in her ear. She squeaked and jumped a foot in the air, twisting somewhat painfully around midair so that when she landed she saw it was just Niklos. He looked vaguely amused.

"Gah!" she said. "Don't do that!"

"Sorry," said Niklos, leaning at a rakish angle against the wall she had just vacated. "I didn't know you were so jumpy. Like a spooked bunny." He grinned.

Imoen put her hands on her hips and tried to look indignant, though the effect was ruined by the wide smile that spread across her face. "I guess so."

"Narlen sent me to meet you," explained Niklos as he beckoned Imoen to follow him. They began heading north. "He figured you might not have had much time to explore the city yet. Might get lost."

"I haven't had _any_ time to explore yet," said Imoen, avoiding a large pile of horse manure in the middle of the road.

"Just as good a thing that I came to fetch you, eh?" replied Niklos. They headed turned right and walked in silence for a time. "Almost there," said Niklos finally.

They rounded a corner to see a fairly good-sized inn ahead of them. As they got closer, Imoen saw that the sign said "The Splurging Sturgeon," and for those who were illiterate (which meant probably half the population of the city), there was a painting below the words of a dapper-looking fish standing on his hind fins spewing gold coins from his mouth.

They continued past the inn to a dark corner between the wall of the inn and the wall dividing the city. Narlen and another thief, this one wearing an eyepatch and a grim expression, were sitting on discarded crates. Narlen seemed to be attempting to tell an amusing story to the other man, though the effort was largely lost on him.

"Stole the Duchess' knickers once, if ya know what I mean," Narlen was saying in a half-whisper, nudging the other man with his elbow. The eyepatched thief just looked at him.

Narlen sighed and spotted Imoen and Niklos. "Ah, my two favorite young'uns," he said as they drew up. Niklos and Imoen shared the sort of look that those of similar age do when older authority figures call attention to their youth; a sort of half-exasperated, half-fond roll of the eyes.

Narlen reached out a hand and, much to Imoen's surprise, tugged her down to sit on his lap. She was glad the darkness hid her blush—she'd never gotten this sort of treatment. "Now then, Immy," said Narlen, patting her knee in an almost fatherly way, "Tonight ye just be a lookout. Me an' Rededge here'll be going in; Niklos'll be on the watch further up the street. Ye'll stand outside th' mark and keep a nighteye out fer any lawmongers. If ye see any, just give the call an' then beat feet—no heroics, hear?"

Imoen nodded and tried not pay attention to the arm around her waist.

"Good girl. Once ye outrun 'im, come back to the guild an' we'll split swag. I'll have Niklos keep an eye out on the way back in case ye lose yerself."

With that, they moved out. Narlen and Rededge faded into the shadows with the practiced ease Imoen would have expected of veteran thieves, and Niklos put his finger to his lips and pointed across the street to a largish house. Imoen nodded and took up her position behind a waterbarrel out front as Niklos wandered up the street, acting leisurely.

Imoen wondered if all the jobs they came up with for her would involve so much waiting. It had been ten minutes at least already and no had come by. She might just die of boredom. That would a laugh, wouldn't it? she asked herself. They'd come around here and find a dried-up old husk, devoid of anything resembling entertainment. Narlen would lament his ever putting me on guard duty. Maybe he'd even make a big scene, drop to his knees and cry to the sky about—

A footstep ran on the cobbles. It was a slapping footstep, the kind you get when you combine old leather boots with the soles falling out and a supremely bored patrol guard. Imoen peeked over the top of the barrel and saw a Flaming Fist officer, in uniform similar to the one she had seen the night they'd rescued Viconia, except his badge had the added insignia of an embroidered keep behind the fist, to indicate that he was a city guard.

He seemed inclined to walk right past. He was going to walk past. He was passing the entrance to the side street they were on. He was... he was... he was turning around and coming straight towards her.

Imoen panicked for a moment before her thiefly instincts took over. She stood straight up and yelled at the top of her lungs, "The jig is up, boys! Run!" She heard Narlen swear loudly through an open upper-story window. Then she followed her own advice.

Running down an alleyway, Imoen heard feet pounding behind her, but she didn't stop until she turned a corner around another house and dived behind a bush. She thought the swaying of the branches might give her away, so she crawled on hands and knees into the tiny space between the house and its neighbor.

The pursuing footsteps slowed and Imoen thought the guard was probably looking around for her. She held her breath and waited.

Finally, the steps moved away and she poked her head out to look cautiously. There was no one around. She crawled out of her hiding place and snuck quietly to the cobblestoned street. Finally, she breathed a sigh of relief.

"Almost got you?" asked a voice, in her ear again, and she spun around as she had before and saw Niklos behind her. She clutched her chest theatrically and panted for breath, which was theatrical but also necessary.

"Sorry again," said Niklos, eyes twinkling in the lamplight that managed to work its way into their little corner. "Come on, we can cut across the fairgrounds."

The fairgrounds were just as eerily silent as the rest of the town, though with the added factor of having no lamps in the middle of them. This made the shapes of the tents and various other fair accessories seem like huge hobgoblins or other nightmarish creatures. The swings that clung to bare, dead tree in the middle of the grounds swung as though ghostly children were pushing them, though Imoen knew it was just the wind. The storm was definitely blowing in now, across the water. Having grown up in Candlekeep, Imoen knew when a storm from the sea was going to be bad, and she could tell from the feel in the air that this one would be a tree-breaker.

Imoen hugged her arms to her chest, mostly in an effort to keep warm, though also to keep herself from shivering from more than the cold. Niklos noticed the look on her face and said, "Not all parts of the city are like this at night. Just this one. The dukes like their quiet." He pointed skyward and north, where Imoen supposed would be the outline of the keep on a clear night, but tonight it was as though he were simply pointing to the stormclouds. As if on cue, thunder rolled.

"You should see the docks at night," continued Niklos, unaware of the dramatic quality to the night. "Even towards midnight they're crawling with sailors and courtesans. Music drifting out of the cheerily-lit common rooms, that sort of thing."

"S'pose next time we could rob someone who lives there?" asked Imoen, and Niklos laughed quietly.

"Maybe," he said. "Anyway, we're at the gate—only a bit of time to the guild now."

At the group of houses near the square, they opened the door of a different house than Imoen had originally entered through, though this one also had a guard. He nodded somberly at them as Niklos waved and they walked into a bedroom and down another flight of steps to the guild's common room.

In here it was much cheerier, though most of the thieves themselves were gone. Still, the bright lighting and general atmosphere of camaraderie perked Imoen up visibly, and she managed to return Narlen's grin as she sat down next to him at his favorite table.

"There ye two are," said Narlen, clapping Niklos on the back as he sat on Narlen's other side. "We'd almost thought the guard caught ye both—woulda been a terrible day if he'd put ye in the dead-book."

"I'm still kicking," said Imoen. Narlen's eyes crinkled as he nodded at her, pleased. "And glad I am to hear it!" he said. "Now, then, to the loot. Immy, believe it or not ye had the hardest job, and fer that ye get th' danger pay."

Imoen held out her hand and her eyes bulged as Narlen dropped a perfect ruby the size of a hen's egg into her palm. Narlen winked. "This particular mark was involved in a bit o' gem smuggling, y'see."

"Wow!" said Imoen. Narlen and Niklos laughed.

"Aye, that's how I'd put it," said Niklos.

Imoen stared at her ruby as the rest of the loot was divided. She did notice, however, that Narlen gave himself the smallest share, though it was still enough to feed a small family for a few days, at least. Narlen turned to her and grinned again. "Well, how did ye like yer first night as an official sneakthief?" he asked.

"When can we do it again?" replied Imoen eagerly.

* * *

Khalid and Jaheira marched through the streets as the sky overhead threatened them with rain. Finally they arrived at the inn, its large bulk throwing plenty of light onto the streets from its windows. Lighting flashed above, though both of them could only think of the conversation they'd had on their visit.

"I'm afraid you must tell her," Dermin had said. Jaheira almost hated him for it. Almost.

Khalid, however, had known they should tell her for quite some time, though he had held back for Jaheira's sake. He knew that, despite Jaheira's seemingly straightforward nature, sometimes she could ignore unpleasant things for months at a time until they came back to bite her on her cute elven behind.

"We r-really should, J-Jaheira," he'd said, and Jaheira had almost hated him for it, too, for a split second before she realized they were both right. Then she hated their reasoning instead, because she could never truly hate either of the figures behind it.

They entered the common room to find Willow slumped over a table in the corner, snoring lightly. Empty mugs covered the table in front of her, and Edwin sat in the chair closest to the wall, leaning over a book roughly the size and width of his head, occasionally casting watchful glances at Willow or resentful glances at Minsc, who remained blissfully ignorant as he gave Boo fencing lessons with what looked like a toothpick with a hilt.

Jaheira sighed heavily as they approached the scene, and Khalid shook his head ruefully. Both Minsc and Edwin looked up as they drew even with the table.

"Not to worry!" said Minsc as Jaheira opened her mouth to speak. "Minsc has made sure little Willow will not be dragged out into the streets by evil little kidnapper-men or the wizard."

"And 'the wizard' has made sure she is not accidentally crushed by the great girth of the barbarian there," said Edwin dryly. "Or accidentally skewered by his pet rat's little 'sword'."

"Boo is not a rat!" said Minsc in outrage. "He is a Giant Miniature Space Hamster, and he is not amused by rat jokes!"

Jaheira sighed and rolled her eyes and lifted Willow from her seat. Willow blinked awake and stared blearily at Jaheira, then yawned and followed after her upstairs.

"J-Jaheira's feeling a l-little pressured," said Khalid by way of explanation, mostly to Minsc. "It m-makes her c-cranky." Then he followed the two women upstairs.

"How is that any different from any other time?" Edwin muttered to himself as he gathered up his book and also set off upstairs for his own room.

Minsc looked at Boo and said, "It seems everyone is cranky these days, Boo. Except for you and me."

Boo squeaked encouragingly.

* * *

Willow sat on the end of the bed as Jaheira pulled up a nearby chair to sit in front of her. Willow looked at her as the half-elf smoothed her tunic and her braid, and did other things that belied the nervousness beneath. Khalid knocked and entered and sat down next to Jaheira. He, by contrast, looked peaceful as always.

"Willow," began Jaheira, and stopped. Willow raised her brows and looked expectantly at her.

Jaheira looked almost pleadingly at Khalid, who nodded and said, "Willow, we h-have something t-to t-tell you. I'm afraid we've p-put it off f-far too long..."

"Not long enough," muttered Jaheira. Khalid went on.

"Y-you know, of c-course, that Gorion is n-not your real father."

"Definitely," said Willow. "Otherwise I'd be taller." She grinned experimentally, but Jaheira was too worried to do anything to return the expression and Willow retreated to looking expectant.

"Indeed," said Khalid, smiling slightly. "But y-you have n-no knowledge of your true parentage," he continued. "P-perhaps a bit of explanation is in order—Jaheira and I are Harpers."

Willow knitted her brows but dropped a stitch so that they ended up alternating between concerned and bunched, and curious and lifted.

"The Harpers are an organization dedicated to fighting evil," said Jaheira, finally speaking. "We are agents, and as such we get assigned to various projects and missions. It was on one such mission that we met Gorion many years ago. We have all been friends since."

Khalid nodded. "A-and it was on another such m-mission that we first met you," he added.

Willow stared blankly at him. "But... I only met you at the Friendly Arm for the first time."

"You were young," said Jaheira, with an almost wistful note in her voice. "You probably did not remember us. But we helped Gorion escort you to Candlekeep. It is the matter of where we found you that is what we wish to discuss now."

"I'm not sure I like where this is going," said Willow, sounding nervous.

"You won't like it even more in a moment," said Jaheira. She seemed to be bracing herself. "You are a Child of Bhaal, Willow. A Bhaalspawn."

Lightning flashed through the window as if some god had decided to help set the mood, but Willow merely looked puzzled. "What?"

Jaheira and Khalid exchanged glances. "Gorion likely tried not to expose you to the reading on the topic," said Jaheira, turning back to Willow. "But, in short, Bhaal is the dead God of Murder."

There was silence for a moment. Then Willow said, in a very small voice, "Oh."

Khalid set one hand over Willow's as they watched her contemplate this new information. She looked like she was about to speak, but shook her head and looked at the wooden floor instead.

Finally she said, in an even smaller voice, "Does this mean that I'm supposed to be a... killing machine? Or something?"

The two half-elves exchanged looks again before Khalid said, "Y-you are whatever you w-want to be, Willow."

* * *

That night Willow dreamed again of Imoen in front of the skull symbol, which she now knew to be that of her father. Imoen smirked at her and spoke in a booming voice that didn't match her face.

NOW THAT YOU KNOW THE TRUTH I NO LONGER HAVE TO APPEAR TO YOU IN INFERIOR FORMS, it said. HOWEVER, I BELIEVE THAT MY MESSAGE HAS MUCH MORE 'OOMPH' WHEN DELIVERED BY A FAMILIAR FACE. ISN'T THAT JUST _DUCKY_?

When Imoen herself came in, soaking wet from the rain, shutting the door as quietly as she could, she found Willow curled up into a tight ball in the next bed, whimpering. She shook her friend by the shoulder but she wouldn't wake up.


End file.
